Shadow and Flame
by RCB
Summary: Fourth Story in the "Our Father, Who Art..." verse. Set in the future. Dean and the family head to Pittsburgh to visit his monster mother in law, while Sam stays behind, and ends up finding a girl at the hardware store and a hunt at his local library.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Shadow and Flame-Chapter One  
Series: Our Father, Who Art...  
Word Count: 2, 611  
Rating: PG-13  
Beta: mrstotten from livejournal is awesomesauce.  
Characters: Dean/OFC: Sarah Winchester, Sam/OFC, Bobby Singer, OC's: Bobby Winchester, Lucy Winchester, Shadow, various other OC's and surprise guests.  
Summary: Set in the future. Dean and the family head to Pittsburgh to visit his monster mother in law, while Sam stays behind, and ends up finding a girl at the hardware store and a hunt at his local library.

A/N: Fourth story in the "Our Father, Who Art…" verse. This story is nearly finished to completion (I'm on the last chapter now). I haven't finished breaking it down into chapters yet, but there should be about twelve in all. Total word count will be roughly 25,000. I plan to post future chapters three times a week (M,W,F) until they are all posted.

~*~

Chapter One

~*~

Rebecca Jacobs gently closed her laptop for the night; the resulting click sounded loudly in the otherwise still and silent library. She liked it best at this time of day, enjoyed the hush that followed after closing time. Libraries were havens, a picture of peace and stability, and she'd loved them since she was a child.

In a library, when things were out of order, she put them back into order. If fiction was found in periodicals, she simply re-shelved it. Easy Peasey.

Rebecca spent each and every lunch hour in the history section. She had tried not to let personal interest interfere with the proper caretaking of the library, but that was hard, and their history section had ended up being the finest in the county. It was her favorite subject, and in a library, once could do that; wallow in a preferred topic and never leave.

Certain subjects and genres could be avoided by simply skipping that section. For her part, Rebecca hated horror. Stephen King, Anne Rice and the rest were given their very own special spot, way in the back, and Rebecca could pretend that they didn't exist.

She often wished life was that easy; that unpleasant things could be just as easily evaded, and she could waltz right by and make believe that they weren't there.

Divorce made the fact that life was not like a library abundantly clear. It illustrated the point with lawyers, judges, and declarations of marital assets.

"Night, Francis," she told the night security guard on her way out.

"Night, Miss Jacobs," he responded politely with a nod, and unlocked the door so that she could exit.

Rebecca gave him a smile through the glass door as he pulled it shut and locked it behind her. He returned her smile, and she saw a reflection in the glass that made her jump.

A flash of white skin and bulbous black eyes made her whirl around and look behind her, but there was nothing there.

She looked back at Francis, and saw the image again, but not in the reflection. It was behind him and as Rebecca watched, her mouth forming a soundless 'O', a set of sharp looking claws slowly reached around to the oblivious and confused looking Frank, grabbing him firmly by the head.

When Frank was swiftly pulled away from the door, through the dimly lit hallway into the furthermost, hidden parts of the library, _her_ library, Rebecca finally began to scream.

~*~

The hot sun felt good on his bare back and he swung the hammer down again, enjoying both the sound and the way it made him feel useful.

Sam wiped the sweat away from his brow as he listened to the kids playing tag in the front yard, and Big Bobby laughing at their antics.

Sam had never really heard the hunter laugh until they'd moved here, and the kids became a daily part of his life. It had happened slowly; first they'd rented a duplex for a few years, and visited constantly. Then Bobby and Lucy began bringing a toy each day and "forgetting" them at Big Bobby's place, until eventually all their toys ended up being stored in the upstairs bedrooms.

One day the old man had grumbled to Dean, "Well, you're here every day mothering me, and the kids already moved in. You might as well make it official since you own the place anyway."

Sam hadn't been fooled, Bobby had pulled him aside once. "She'd have been glad to see the place full like this. It's what we bought this house for," he'd said, surprising Sam. Bobby never talked about his wife.

Ever.

Dean had argued that he didn't want the house, and they'd settled on half the value which Dean had handy, plus some extra from the insurance money on the place that had been destroyed. Bobby grudgingly accepted the money, but turned around and opened savings accounts in each of the kid's names, though Sam wasn't sure what he'd done with the rest.

Most likely, he put it away for Sam's kids.

The ones he wasn't ever going to have.

He'd quit saying that out loud because any time he did, Dean would get a guilty look on his face, and Sarah would squeeze his shoulders and insist that he would meet somebody nice. Generally, she'd then make Sam lasagna for dinner that night because it was his favorite. He tried to remember the last time they'd eaten lasagna, and realized that it had been a few months.

Maybe he _should_ bring the subject up again; he could really go for a little lasagna.

He scolded himself that it was wrong to emotionally maneuver his brother's wife into making him his favorite dinner, and put the rag back into his pocket before picking up another heavy bundle of shingles and determinedly put away that particular line of thinking.

He still didn't get why Dean would feel guilty about the kids issue anyway; it wasn't his fault that Sam had demon blood running through his veins.

He had no idea how something like that would affect DNA, and he wasn't about to find out. He supposed, in retrospect, that it was a contributing factor to the brief relationship he'd had with Ruby. He didn't have to explain anything to her, and he was pretty sure that humans and demons couldn't procreate.

He had still worn a condom, though, just in case. After all, the human body she was using might get pregnant and it was bad enough that he'd been so desperate and broken that he'd given in and taken what Ruby was offering. Confessing that to Dean hadn't been all that pleasant; he couldn't imagine what it would have been like to have had to add in an, "Oh, and we're expecting," on top of that.

He hadn't dated much after that, a few girls here and there, but when things started to get serious he backed away.

After all, he felt a responsibility to explain what he was, and how was he supposed to begin that conversation exactly? He hadn't even explained to any of them about hunting; and it seemed a bad idea to jump into a conversation that starts with: "When I was six months old Azazel, a fallen angel, dripped his blood into my mouth and killed my mother so that I'd grow up and lead his demon army out of Hell. Heh, heh. So, when did you want to go out again?"

Sam Winchester was thirty six years old, and he still lived with his older brother. Sometimes he loved that fact; loved Dean's children as if they were his own, and was grateful that he never felt like he was intruding in their lives.

But other times, he felt like an utter loser.

He tossed down the heavy load and Dean looked over at him from the other side of the roof. "Break?" he asked and Sam nodded.

"I don't think we're going to be done by tomorrow," Dean said as they made their way to the ladder that was propped on the side of the house.

"Nice try," Sam told him, "But you're not getting out of seeing your in laws."

"I'm just sayin' that this is a bigger job than I thought," he insisted a little too quickly.

"We'll be done," Sam said, grinning at Dean's fate. Sarah's mother was difficult.

She really,_ really_ didn't like Dean.

"Might not be," Dean huffed a little.

"Then I'll finish it up after you leave," Sam told him, grabbing the top of the ladder and swinging his leg over to climb down.

"Way to kill a man's dream," Dean grumbled.

"You guys want some lemonade?" Sarah called up, and Sam jumped off the ladder when he was still a few feet from the bottom.

"Sounds great, thanks," Sam accepted, while Dean was still climbing down. Big Bobby was sitting in a porch chair, feet propped on a wooden crate drinking his own glass of lemonade, a pillow that Sarah insisted on, behind his back to make him comfortable. His cane was within easy reach, as always.

Bobby pretended to hate them fussing over him, but Sam knew he loved every second of it. He could see it even now, a look of relaxation and contentment on Bobby's face that Sam had never seen before a few years ago.

"Uncle Bobby! Watch me!" Lucy called up before launching into a cartwheel in the front yard. She had a passionate love for gymnastics, and was constantly practicing.

"That's good, but make sure that right leg stays straight," Big Bobby coached and Lucy nodded at him with determination before trying it over again.

Sarah handed him a glass of lemonade, and he thanked her again before downing half of it. He was pretty sure he hadn't sweated so much in his life, but he liked it. Something about hard labor and sweat made him feel more alive.

He heard Dean come up behind him, and Sam turned away, knowing what was coming.

"I want extra sugar in mine, just dip your finger in it," Dean said to Sarah and Sam covertly rolled his eyes as Sarah gave a small, girlish giggle.

His brother should thank God every day. _Seriously. _

"Actually, let's skip the lemonade, and you can deliver that sugar direct," Dean went on, and he knew without looking that the couple was locked in some sort of kiss.

Lucy looked up at the porch and covered her mouth with one hand in disgust, and pointed at them with the other. "Oh my GAWD! They're kissing _again_. That is _so_ gross!!" she declared to her brother.

Bobby barely looked up from whatever it was that had his attention. Sam decided to go investigate since anything that held Bobby's short attention span was never a good thing.

Sure enough, Bobby had found a dead bird and was gently prodding at it with a stick, examining it closely.

"It's dead," Bobby said quietly, looking at Sam with a hurt expression.

"I'll bury it," Sam told him, knowing how the subject of death upset Bobby.

"I will." Bobby looked back down at the bird again.

"You sure?" Sam asked. Bobby was ten years old, and rarely cried these days, but he could tell that the kid was extremely upset. He put a hand on Bobby's shoulder and squeezed once. Bobby had informed them all just last year that he was entirely too old for hugs.

"Yeah, me and Lucy can have a funeral for him," Bobby said with a regretful sigh. "Do you think he liked flying?"

"What?" Sam asked, startled by the odd ball question. He always thought that he'd heard it all from Bobby, but he managed to keep surprising Sam.

Bobby looked at Sam seriously. "Flying. I dream about it sometimes. Do you think he liked it? That being a bird and flying made him happy?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess," Sam decided, trying to give Bobby's question serious consideration.

Bobby crouched down and kept inspecting the dead bird. "I wonder if he ever thought about being something else. If he flew over a lake once and wished he was a fish," he mused out loud.

"I doubt birds think very much," Sam offered, not sure where the conversation was going.

"Maybe not like us, but I bet he yearned for something at least once before he died. I wonder what it was?" Bobby went on, and Sam realized that Bobby was clearly up to the letter 'y' in the dictionary that Sam had lent him.

"I don't know, Bobby," was all Sam could think of to say.

"Do you ever wonder stuff like that Uncle Sam? What it might be like to be someone or something else?" Bobby asked him.

Sam thought about it for a second.

"Yeah, sure I do," he answered truthfully. He wished nearly every day that he was just normal, not a freak with demon blood.

"Me too," Bobby said. "I'm going to go get a shovel."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said and watched him go for a few seconds before heading back to the porch himself.

"So, what's for dinner? I'm hungry for chicken," Dean told Sarah as Sam climbed up the steps.

"Bad idea," Sam told him.

"Why's that?" Dean asked, bristling a little at being told that his dinner choice was a bad idea.

"Bobby just found a dead bird, and he's going to have a funeral for it," Sam explained. "I'd stay away from anything uh, avian, for awhile."

Dean's face fell, but he didn't argue.

"You're such a good uncle Sam. You're going to be a great Dad someday," Sarah complimented him, refilling his glass.

"Naw, I'm really too old now to think about any kids," Sam answered.

When Sarah squeezed his shoulder Sam told himself that it was a jerk thing to do.

But, he was a jerk who was going to be eating lasagna for dinner.

~*~

It liked Hell well enough. Hellfire was warm, and it absorbed the energy whenever it felt inclined to do so. The warmth was a welcome change from the Other Place before the conjurer called it into being. It had taken some practice but it could sometimes hold the heat inside of itself for a bit, but not forever. It had been in the Other Place for too long to keep heat permanently.

Sometimes, it brushed up against those being burned away in the fiery pits, knowing they welcomed its touch as a respite from the searing agony. It couldn't stay long though; had to always keep moving so no one suspected.

When it pulled away, their screams began anew and it made the shadow feel strange, and it puzzled over the sensation for nearly a year before it realized that the sensation was pity. It had _heard_ of pity, but he couldn't remember where since it was a concept absent in Hell. It then puzzled for another year as to why it would _feel_ pity. More puzzling was the idea that it _could_ feel.

It was stealing the heat away from the damned when its master summoned it. It nuzzled at her feet, making itself small and the master kicked at it and pushed it away.

"Disgusting!" she railed at it, and it slunk away to the corner making itself even smaller, compacting its energy in shame.

"I have another window for you to pass through. This time I want you to find them and report back. I will send others to do the job," she told it.

It wasn't excited to go back, hell was warmer and the human souls welcomed its touch instead of recoiling. Maybe if it did its job quickly, it could return to hell faster.

It waited while the master made deals, used blood and old words to open a tiny space for it to squeeze through. She couldn't fit, not yet, not until she was stronger to make a bigger window. Until then, the conjurer relied on shadow to do her bidding.

She was eager, it knew, to cross over. Very eager.

It squeezed through the crevice, and the action hurt just like it had last time. Even as small as it could make itself, it was a hard task to accomplish. It could hear the words she spoke as it finally passed the rest of the way through, and the ancient utterances stirred something deep inside.

A memory, just outside of its reach.

Impatient to return to hell, it pushed the fleeting memory aside, and began its search for the Winchesters.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

Chapter Two

~*~

"We're all packed," Sarah announced over their dinner of lasagna and garlic bread that night.

"Great," Dean said with fake enthusiasm around a mouthful of food.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Daddy. It's bad manners," Lucy corrected him solemnly.

"Right," Dean was chagrined, and he swallowed conscientiously, while Sam and Sarah laughed.

"How's the lasagna, Sam?" Sarah asked.

"Great," he answered, pushing away that tiny twinge of guilt for playing the "no wife and kids" card on her. He really wasn't sorry, it was good, and this was the last home cooked meal he was going to be getting for two weeks.

"Well, the fridge is stocked for you guys while we're gone," Sarah motioned to the old, white refrigerator.

"Two weeks in Pennsylvania," Big Bobby said to Lucy. "Are you excited?"

"Yep. I bet they have ballet there," she said dreamily.

"Ballet?" Dean choked on his iced tea.

"Well, there might be," Sarah agreed. "We'll look when we get there."

"_Ballet?_" Dean repeated.

"It's a marriage of dance and music," Little Bobby explained calmly as if his father didn't understand the concept of ballet.

Dean gave him a look as if he were an alien, and Sam watched as his nephew blushed a little.

"I read it on the internet," Bobby explained quickly. "There's also Heinz stadium. Football."

"It's going to take forever. Why can't we take a plane?" Lucy complained.

"Planes crash," Dean said automatically.

"So do cars," Lucy insisted, pouting.

"Not mine," Dean informed her.

"Ugh. I wish we had a van like Marcy's parents," Lucy went on, and a mental picture of Dean driving a mini van flashed in Sam's brain and wouldn't leave.

Later, when Sam finally stopped laughing and dried his tears, he ignored his brother's glare and got up to wash the dishes.

It was his turn to wash, and Lucy's to dry.

"You want to trade?" he offered since he knew how much she hated drying.

"Yes!" she agreed immediately, and they soon had the kitchen to themselves. The senior and junior Bobby's had gone off to study together, the latter determined to learn Latin before he got to the fifth grade.

"So, ballet, huh?" Sam asked as he filled the sink for her, and made sure that there weren't any sharp knives in the sink that she could cut herself on. She slid a chair over to stand on.

"Yep," Lucy declared. "Once I get really good at gymnastics, I'm taking ballet. I'll be famous and live in Paris."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam told her, resisting the urge to laugh.

"All it takes is practice; my teacher said so," Lucy informed him as he turned off the tap. He checked the temperature of the water and decided that it was warm enough to wash with, but cool enough for her to stick her hands into.

"Sounds like your teacher is pretty smart," Sam said as she took his hand and he helped her climb up the chair.

"She almost made it to the Olympics," Lucy said reverently, as if this was the first time she'd told Sam that. He'd heard it after almost every one of her classes, since he was the one who picked her up if Big Bobby wasn't available.

"That's pretty impressive," Sam answered, same as always.

"When are you getting married?" she blurted out then, startling Sam with the abrupt change in topic.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you gay?" she asked cocking her head and studying him with a thoughtful look on her face.

"What?!?" he asked, alarmed.

"Marcy's Uncle Joe is gay, and that means he brings home a boy for Christmas. She says that they love each other just like a boy and a girl do and that they all should have known because he never brought home a girl for Christmas, just his friend, Bill." Lucy rambled on.

"I, uh…"

"So if you're gay Uncle Sam, it's okay with me because Marcy's uncle is gay, too," she concluded.

"Uh, well…uh…thanks. For that," Sam said, stunned. "But, I'm not gay."

"That's what Marcy's Uncle Joe said, when Marcy asked him," Lucy said, giving him a knowing look, as if he were trying to pull something over on her.

"Well, I'm not," he said a little more defensively than he'd meant to.

"You don't take girls out on dates," Lucy countered.

"I have. But I'm busy," Sam defended himself to his eight year old niece. He was busy. He worked at the garage in the day time, helping Dean and Bobby and soon he'd be back to night school again.

"Marcy's Uncle Joe had some girlfriends, too. That's what Marcy heard her mom tell her dad, but her dad said that he must have been "experimenting". What's experimenting?" Lucy asked him.

"I..uh…you should really ask your mom that," Sam hedged.

"They act like I'm a baby," Lucy complained. "I'm eight years old now."

"You're going into third grade!" Sam argued.

"Exactly!" Lucy went on as if Sam was agreeing with her point.

"You know what? I'll wash _and_ dry," Sam decided.

"Thanks!" Lucy agreed immediately, and jumped down from her chair quickly.

She skipped out of the room, blonde pigtails swinging from side to side, and Sam debated with himself if the conversation was to discover the source of Sam's wifeless status, or…

If she was actually maneuvering a way to get out of doing chores.

He turned the second theory around in his head carefully, while he washed _and_ dried. That's not possible for an eight year old.

Right?

~*~

"ANGEL!!" Bobby's grandmother screeched as she ran into the driveway. As soon as his Dad had the car in park, his mother turned his father and gave him a stern look and Dad muttered something that Bobby couldn't make out.

"Be _nice_," she warned his father who gave her a look of innocence.

Grandma Pete wrenched open the car door, and nearly dragged his mother outside, squeezing her in a hug that surely cut off his mom's air supply.

Oh crap, he was next.

When it was his turn, Bobby tried to hug her back but she'd managed to somehow pinch a nerve in his back, rendering his arms useless and they hung limply at his sides until she finally released him.

The only one safe was Dad, and once she finished with Bobby, and then Lucy, (who scowled and rubbed her right arm when Grandma wasn't looking), his grandmother gave his father a disapproving look.

"Still driving this beat up car?" she asked sternly.

"It's a classic, Mother Pete," his dad tossed back, knowing how much Grandma hated it when he called her that.

They stared each other down until his mother intervened. "Mom, how about we go into the house? It was a really long drive," she said gently.

"Poor things, driving all that way," Grandma Pete said, giving him and Lucy a look of sympathy. "Too bad your father wasn't so cheap; you could have flown and been here in a few hours."

"It was fun," Lucy lied at once and Bobby nodded in defense of their father.

She didn't seem to believe them, but didn't say anything more about it. Instead she grabbed their hands, and walked them into the house. "Your Dad will bring your things," she said, squeezing their hands hard so that they couldn't slip away from her.

"No. I am _not_ going in there!" he heard his father whisper loudly to his mother, and Bobby couldn't hear her response because Grandma was dragging them into her house and then…_**they**_ were there.

The dolls.

Grandma Pete collected dolls. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, infants, preschoolers, and everything in between. She had them everywhere. On the fireplace mantle, on coffee tables, end tables, the rocking chair; every available surface was devoted to her collection.

As she ushered them inside, the dolls watched their every move, their dead eyes making Bobby's skin crawl.

The amount of lace in the room alone could make a boy run screaming.

"Wow," his Dad said when he walked inside. "Still creepy as hell in here, Mother Pete."

"They're collector's items," his grandmother defended herself stiffly.

"Creepy collector's items," his father said, wrinkling his nose in disgust and examining a baby that was entirely too life like.

Grandma Pete glared at her father who just grinned back, and Bobby waited for the fireworks to start. Lucy had been young on their last visit to Pittsburgh and didn't remember too much, but Bobby did.

"I made you all some dinner," Grandma Pete said, seeming to decide to ignore his father, and instead talked to his mother.

"Oh! Oh… wow, that was nice of you Mom," his mother began and Bobby's stomach flip flopped. One look at his father's face told him that he'd somehow forgotten all about Grandma's cooking, too.

"I thought Daddy was taking us all out to dinner? Because he didn't want Grandma to go to any trouble?" Lucy asked and Dean looked at her confused.

"That's right! Oh Mom, I was supposed to call you. Dean really had his heart set on that Chinese place we went to the last time we were here," his mother said at once, not missing a beat. Bobby looked at his Dad for some kind of clue as to when he'd said that, but clearly his Dad didn't remember either.

"You were going to take _me_ out to dinner." Grandma Pete stated, looking at his Dad suspiciously.

"Least I could do," Dad answered, standing up straight and beaming, cocking his head just slightly to the side and giving a slight nod to the left, which meant treating Grandma Pete to dinner was the very last thing that he wanted to do.

Bobby had learned fast what his father's tells were.

"Well, it's just a roast. It'll keep, I guess. We could eat it for lunch tomorrow," Grandma Pete decided, seeming to buy the con.

With any luck, something catastrophic would happen to the roast between now and then, and they'd all be spared.

In their shared bedroom, he and Lucy unpacked. "Good call," he complimented her quick thinking.

"There are two things I remember about Grandma's house. Those weird dolls, and her cooking," Lucy informed him. "No way is my trip getting ruined because of meat surprise."

Bobby choked back a laugh. "I didn't think you remembered that."

Lucy fixed him with a serious look and put her hands on her hips.

"No one could forget meat surprise."

~*~

"Do you remember when we shared a room?" Bobby asked her when they got back. He was tense from all the sniping his father and grandmother had done over dinner and he was glad it was time for bed.

"Kind of, but I remember you sleeping on the floor more," Lucy said.

"You used to get nightmares," Bobby told her.

"You have nightmares all the time," Lucy told him, surprising him.

"I do?" he asked.

"Yeah, but when I try and wake you up, you settle down so I just go back to bed," Lucy shrugged.

"You talk sometimes, too," Lucy told him as she got into bed.

"About what?" Bobby asked. Most of the time he couldn't remember what he'd dreamed about; it was on the outskirts of his awake brain, just out of reach.

"You call Dad by his name, sometimes. And you say weird stuff, like another language," Lucy said and yawned.

"Latin?" he asked somewhat excitedly. He'd been trying hard to learn, and was having a tough time, but if he was speaking it in his sleep then maybe he was getting it after all.

"Not Latin," Lucy said wrinkling her nose.

"Then what?" he asked disappointed.

"How should I know? I'm in the third grade!" Lucy retorted.

"Not yet, squirt," Bobby taunted her.

"In a few weeks I will be," she said back hotly. "And when I do, I still won't know how to talk like a weirdo dolphin or something!"

"A dolphin?" Bobby asked, rolling his eyes at her. "Whatever."

"I don't need to know anything other than French anyway. When I'm a famous ballerina, I'll live in Paris," she went on.

"Go to sleep, Lucy," Bobby said, annoyed. He fixed his blankets on his bed the way that he liked them.

"I miss Uncle Sam," she said, out of the blue.

"Yeah, I miss Uncle Bobby," Bobby commiserated.

"Sirius Black is kind of scary," she went on. "I want to know what happens next."

"You could call him," Bobby suggested. "I bet he'd read it to you over the phone."

"It's after ten; he's probably already asleep or something. Old people get tired," Lucy sighed miserably.

"Probably right," Bobby lied since he knew that after they went to bed his Dad and Uncles tended to have interesting conversations that sometimes involved making shot gun shells and old hunting stories.

Bobby turned off the light and laid down thinking about the day that his Dad had pulled him aside, just last year, and with a funny look on his face and told him that he was old enough to know some things. That not telling him would be irresponsible, and told Bobby to sit down.

Bobby had tons of questions, but he was limited to asking when Lucy wasn't around because he was forbidden to tell her anything. When he did get to ask, his Dad didn't treat him like a baby, and he was proud of that, and the fact that his family were hunters. They helped people, and fought the bad things that tried to hurt the people who never even knew they existed. Sometimes, though he'd never admit to such a babyish thing, he pictured his Dad and Uncles as super heroes, like the Justice League, but cooler. They didn't have fancy powers and gadgets to help them.

He hated target practice; he just wasn't any good at it, but his Dad dragged him out almost every day anyway. He didn't mind running, or the other stuff, but holding a gun was uncomfortable and didn't feel right in his hands. His Dad kept insisting that he'd get used to it, that someday he'd be glad for the feel of that gun in his hands, but Bobby couldn't picture it.

Uncle Sam said he understood; he had felt the same way when he was a kid, too. Something about the way that he said it, made Bobby believe him and he was glad that he wasn't the only one. Uncle Sam was always a good person to talk to when something was bothering him. He didn't get why Uncle Sam was afraid to have kids; he'd be awesome at it, in Bobby's opinion.

It would be nice to have some cousins.

Bobby saw a shadow in the corner and closed his eyes, counting to three calmly. Most times things like that went away, just his imagination playing tricks, and if it didn't, then he was to shout "Christo!" at the top of his lungs until his Dad or Uncles could get to him. Their house was safe, but Grandma kept sweeping up the salt here and musing out loud that she didn't understand where it was coming from.

When he opened his eyes, it was gone, and he chalked it up to moonlight playing at the tree outside his bedroom window. Their bedroom had cooled off considerably though, and he crept over to Lucy to cover her up.

_Guess Dad got Grandma Pete's air conditioning working after all._

~*~

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

Chapter Three

~*~

It had been four days. Dean and the kids had made it safely to Pittsburgh, and Sam was going out of his mind. He kept busy at Singer's Salvage & Repair, but when he got home at night, the house was quiet and still.

The emptiness screamed at him from every corner, and he couldn't take it. No kids asking him questions that seemed simple on the surface but were, in truth, complex and difficult. No little girls perfecting cartwheels, no little boys trying out science experiments in the 'secret lab' of a bedroom, and two bikes (one pink and one green), collecting dust in the garage.

"Hey, I was thinking of riding in to town and hitting the library," he announced to Bobby that night after the last of the reheated leftover lasagna. "You want to come?"

"Naw," Bobby answered, his nose in a large, dusty book.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Need anything while I'm out?" Sam offered.

"How are we on whiskey?" Bobby asked and barely looked up.

"You've got a fifth left," Sam reported, having already checked before he'd even said a word.

"Then I'm good." Bobby decided, and resumed reading whatever it was that had been holding his interest for the last four days.

Sam walked out, the hot breeze hitting him as soon as he opened the front door, and it was somewhat of a relief. The house didn't have air conditioning yet, and it was sweltering inside after five o'clock.

He drove into town, a thirty minute drive, passing a moving van on his way. There was a house for sale just across the road from them and he wondered if that was its destination. Maybe they'd have kids, someone the same ages as Bobby and Lucy.

Really, he needed to stop thinking about the kids.

Seriously.

He found a lucky parking spot right in front of the hardware store, and went inside, determined to pick up the supplies that they needed in a hurry. It had been a few months since their last job, but they were running low on salt and since it was on sale, he'd decided that it was a good time to stock up. He grabbed some ammo from the gun counter, too, and carried his things toward the checkout on the front of the store, smiling at the blonde who was pushing a buggy down the paint aisle.

"Excuse me," she said, stopping him. "I don't suppose you know anything about paint, do you?"

"Sure," Sam told her, and decided that getting hit on in the paint aisle was absolutely the perfect way to relieve his boredom and forget about the kids.

"I'm not sure which kind I need. Water based or oil based," she went on, brown eyes roving over his arms which were straining under the weight of the bag of rock salt.

She flirted; he helped her decide on paint, and flirted back. It was nice, but he'd let time get away from him and if he didn't hurry, the library was going to close.

"So um, maybe I should get your number," Sam hinted, "In case you have any problems while you're painting."

"How about we meet up later?" she suggested and winked at him while she wrote the number down hastily.

"Okay," he agreed, giving a nervous laugh. She was forward, but that wasn't really a bad thing, was it? He could use a little forward about now, something to help keep his mind off of the mostly empty house.

After she walked away, swaying her hips, he hurried down the aisle. Glancing back at her, he knew he had a big, stupid smile on his face but he couldn't stop. She was really confident, sure of herself and he really liked-

When he barreled into the woman, neither of them ever had a chance. He had been walking too fast, the large bag on his shoulder obscuring his right side, and he'd been too distracted by the blonde that he'd been grinning like a loon at.

The woman literally bounced off of him and landed right on her ass.

As he tried to stay upright, trying not to join her on the floor (or worse, on top of her), the bag of rock salt caught on the jagged corner of the steel frame shelf. In his struggle for balance, the bag tore open, dousing his victim in a sudden shower.

"Oh my God!" he said, horrified, and not able to stop the flow in time. She was immediately covered in about thirty pounds of salt.

"What is this?" she sputtered, looking up at him incredulously. Her glasses were covered in salt dust, and she took them off, squinting up at him.

"Rock salt," he answered and tossed the mostly empty bag aside, offering her his hand. She took it, and he helped her up off the ground. Once up, she tripped over her own black heeled boot, and he had to catch her to keep her from landing on her ass again.

She went to take a step away from the pile of salt, but the slick linoleum combined with the large granules of salt made her slide and she began to topple over. Once again, Sam's arm darted out and steadied her.

"Okay," she decided after a second of staying still. "I think. I think I got it."

Sam let go and apologized again. "I am so sorry," he offered, while she tried to brush herself off. She had tiny flecks of salt covering her brown hair, and they shined under the florescent lighting when she moved. She blew on her glasses, but the dust wasn't budging.

"Why do you even have rock salt?" she demanded.

"What?" he asked, still flustered over what had just happened (assaulting a person with rock salt was a new one), and he wasn't prepared for someone to ask him why he was buying it.

"Rock. Salt," she repeated as if he were hard of hearing. "It's August. We're not likely to get a blizzard any time soon."

"I…uh…never too early," he stammered.

She gave him a look that was obviously reserved for the extremely stupid.

"It was on sale," he tried.

No change.

"Look, if this ruined your sweater," he began, though he could mention that her wearing a turtleneck sweater in August was as stupid as him buying rock salt, "I'll pay for it."

"It's fine." Her tone was abrupt and she began trying to brush herself off again.

"Well, if it isn't… later." He hoped it wasn't something fancy, like a silk blend or cashmere because he really couldn't afford that right now.

She glanced at her watch and let out a small squeak. "I'm going to be late. I have to get back to work!" she declared, looking around the floor frantically.

"What?" Sam asked, following her gaze, while she turned in a circle.

"WD-40! I had a can of WD-40 and I'm going to be late!" she said again, looking ready to come unglued at any second. Sam was thinking of the White Rabbit from "Alice in Wonderland", when suddenly her boot slid on the rock salt again. Sam caught her, trying to be a gentleman and not notice that her skirt had just slid up dangerously high.

She stood up, smoothed the grey wool back down over her nylon clad legs, and blushed bright red before whirling around again looking for the lost can of WD-40.

"I'll get it and bring it to wherever you work," Sam offered, since he was the reason she'd lost it to begin with.

"No thank you," she replied primly.

"It's not a big deal," he insisted.

"I don't even know you. I'm not telling you where I work," she informed him, looking indignant.

"Oh," Sam said slowly. Did he look dangerous? "Uh, well let's see if we can find it then." He tried a smile to see if that would make him look friendlier.

"I mean, you could be a serial killer," she went on. "All I know about you is that you buy rock salt in August. Who does that?" she asked him, looking exasperated with him.

"I don't know. Who wears a turtleneck in August?" he countered, and gave her a pointed look, quickly deciding that there was no way he was winning her over with a smile or an offer to replace her sweater. He also decided that he didn't want to win her over. He was trying to be nice, it was an accident, and she's accusing him of being a serial killer?

She stood up straight and stormed away, her face still red, which Sam guessed was more likely from anger than embarrassment. He watched as she tripped over her own foot, and landed once again on the floor.

"Oh! There it is!" he heard her say, sounding relieved rather than pained, and her hand closed around the wayward can of WD-40.

She got to her feet ungracefully and headed towards the checkout. Sam watched her go, shaking his head in disbelief over the whole situation. When she was finally gone, he went to find a clerk to sweep up the salt.

He went to the back of the store yet again, and as he walked he wondered just how forward the blonde actually was. Her name was Danielle, and that had a nice ring to it.

~*~

"I'm not reading it!" Lucy insisted.

"Whatever, Lucy. You just happen to have Peter Pan in your suitcase because you're not reading it," Bobby mocked her. She had been annoying him all day long, talking non stop about the stupid ballet that she'd gone to. He could have gone; he wanted to go, but his Dad had acted like the ballet was just for girls. So instead Bobby had lied and said that he didn't want to go.

He had grudgingly stayed behind and helped his Dad around the house, doing some chores that Grandma Pete had listed out on a really, really, long piece of paper.

"I don't read little kid stuff. I'm in third grade now!" Lucy shouted back.

"Not yet, squirt," Bobby taunted her, feeling a little bad about it. It wasn't her fault that he didn't go, and he knew he shouldn't be taking it out on her, but still…

"You're a jerk, Bobby!" Lucy said, storming from the room.

"Takes one to know one!" Bobby called after her just as Dad came in from around the corner and gave Bobby the "look".

"Hey, settle down," Dad warned him, and Bobby would have liked to have scowled in answer, but the "look" was first warning, and "settle down" was the second. He never tested his father to find out what the last warning was, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Yes, sir," Bobby said quietly.

His face softened at once and he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Bobby. "You were a big help today, you know."

"Thanks." Bobby wished they were back home. He missed his uncles, Latin, and most of all, his laptop. His mother had forbidden him to bring it, saying he was supposed to spend time with his grandmother, not his silly computer.

"Not much longer, sport. Hang in there," Dad said in a consoling tone.

"You, too," Bobby said without thinking, and looked up quickly to see if he was in trouble.

Instead, his Dad laughed. "Eh, I've dealt with bigger things than the scary Mother Pete," he joked, and Bobby laughed. He loved his grandmother, but he hated how mean she was to his father. He'd overheard her talking to her friends on the phone, saying all sorts of mean things about his father.

Bobby wanted to shout at her that his Dad was a freaking hero, and not a loser running a garage, or a freeloader living with Uncle Bobby. They took care of Uncle Bobby, and he needed them. Uncle Bobby liked them living there, and he'd told Bobby that himself. Sometimes he even told Bobby stories about his wife, what she was like, and how she'd have liked them all.

"Don't worry about that stuff, okay?" Dad asked him, ruffling up his hair. Bobby nodded, even though he wasn't likely to stop worrying about it any time soon.

"I wanted to talk to you a minute," Dad went on then, looking serious now.

"About what?" Bobby asked, wondering what he'd done wrong. He hadn't, as far as he knew, but maybe he broke a rule; or worse, let the big family secret out of the bag without realizing it. His heart began to pound while his dad watched him carefully.

He got up and closed the door, and Bobby's pounding heart fell into his stomach. There had to be serious trouble if the door had to be closed. Bobby's mind raced while he tried to imagine what he'd done wrong.

"You had a nightmare last night," Dad told him when he sat back down on the bed.

"I did?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, I was up because…well, I was up. Heard you talking," Dad said, looking at Bobby carefully.

"I don't remember," Bobby answered honestly.

"Nothing? You don't remember a thing?" Dad asked him, still watching his face.

"No, Dad. Lucy said she heard me talking in my sleep, too, but I don't remember any dreams," Bobby insisted. The whole thing frightened him; having dreams and not remembering them, and now he was talking in his sleep for everyone to hear? What if he said something embarrassing? What if he said something about Ashley from Mrs. Callery's class last year?!?!

"Okay. Okay." Dad patted him lightly on the back a few times. "I just thought maybe…if you wanted to talk about it, or something. I mean, I'd understand."

"What did I say?" Bobby asked him. Dad smiled, cocked his head to the side, and then gave a slight nod to the left.

"Didn't really catch what you said. You just sounded upset is all."

He continued to smile at Bobby as if nothing was wrong.

If that was true, then why would his dad lie to him?

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

Chapter Four

~*~

Rebecca checked over her notes and readied her supplies carefully, just as the web site suggested.

Black clothing?

Check.

Camera?

Check.

She looked the site over again, really there wasn't much more listed than that, which was somewhat disappointing. It also didn't make a whole lot of sense. Why the ski mask? She wasn't robbing the place.

She had wisely decided to add a few more things to the list, and had a flashlight, extra batteries and her bible. They seemed like sensible choices to add to her arsenal. So did the night vision goggles (listed as optional on the website), even though they'd cost her almost a week's pay.

It was only a half an hour until closing time, and Rebecca nervously began to oil the wheels on the book carts for something to do that would help make the time pass quicker. So far, in the last three days, she'd been questioned by the police, evaluated by two psychiatrists, and had to deal with getting used to a brand new security guard.

Crouching down so she could hear better, Rebecca fervently rolled the newly oiled carts back and forth to test them. There was nothing more distracting than a squeaky cart, and people were here to concentrate and read. She'd told Frank no less than three times about these carts…

Rebecca's eyes began to tear when she thought about poor Frank, mauled to death in the middle of the library and apparently dragged away into the men's room. His blood was found all over the main atrium.

When life was at its most chaotic, that was when Rebecca craved the familiar order of the library. She'd come in that day anyway, the police had questions for her, but people had to be turned away. People with term papers due, or other pressing needs. Children, with a burning desire for knowledge and…God, poor _Frank_.

"Wow, small world," a male voice surprised her and caused her to give a small "oh!". She promptly lost her balance and fell on her backside for the fourth time that day.

She looked up, and it was him. Weird rock salt guy. Was he stalking her? She was glad that she'd changed into black slacks for her mission, and he couldn't peep up her skirt this time. Perhaps heeled boots hadn't been the best option. She probably should have bought something more sensible, but she'd spent most of her budget on the night vision goggles.

"I'm sorry!" he said immediately, and held out his hand to help her up, as if she'd actually accept the hand of a skirt-peeping stalker.

Rebecca got herself up off the floor, thank you very much, and closed her laptop quickly before he had a chance to peep at it, too. Luckily, she had already closed her desk drawer that held her camcorder and goggles.

"I uh, saw you and thought I'd say...hi?" He said it more like a question than a statement. "You work here?" he glanced at her name tag quickly.

"I'm the Library Director," Rebecca said, squaring her shoulders proudly, and fixing her glasses.

"Okay," he said looking at her as if _she_ were the weird one. She was in her place of employment; she belonged here, and _he_ was the one that was following her around.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, and tugged the entirely too warm sweater down. It was sweltering, but it was the only black top that she owned.

"Checking out books," he held up a stack as he spoke.

_Oh._

"Well…I…we received some new selections in nonfiction today, if you're interested," she offered weakly since he was, in fact, a patron and not a stalker.

Unless it was just a cover. She looked him over again with suspicion, and he gave her a smile.

Dimples. She bet serial killers relied on dimples to lure their prey into the darkest of alleys.

"These are good, maybe next time," he answered, smiling bigger and Rebecca decided that it was too large and dazzling to be normal. She looked over his titles quickly.

Stephen King. Anne Rice. Dean Koontz.

Sweet baby Jesus, he was a horror buff. In Rebecca's opinion, that was truly worse than potential serial killer.

"So, are you okay?" he asked her, his smile faded and looking at her with some concern.

"Oh," she remembered her small fall, "I do that all the time." She waved her hand dismissively and smoothed her hair for something to do, hoping her bun had stayed in place at least. Her ex-husband had told her on more than one occasion that she was probably the klutziest person on the planet, and she really couldn't argue. The more nervous or upset about something she was, the worse it got.

"No, I mean…I grabbed a paper on my way in and…I saw the article. About the security guard and the maintenance man," he went on and her once square shoulders drooped a bit. They actually published her statement to the police; what she'd seen. She sounded like an absolute crazy person.

"I'm fine," she said briskly. There was no way she'd let anyone think she was less than competent to run the library; the community relied on her after all, and he was clearly, now that she spied his library card peeking from between his hand and the gruesome cover of Stephen King's latest novel, a patron.

She caught him looking over her desk, like he was taking stock. He only glanced at it for a second, but she was certain that if she quizzed him, he'd be able to give her an accurate list of each item on it.

Rebecca didn't like that. _At all_. He made her nervous and she resisted the urge to fidget again with her sweater.

"The police are looking for the person responsible. I assure you that your public library is perfectly safe," she went on. She hastily grabbed a button off of her desk, and held it out to him. Sometimes people liked freebies, and maybe he'd go away. Besides, it wasn't a total lie. Soon the library would be safe again; she'd called for help and it was coming. As long as she followed the instructions to the letter, and everything went according to plan.

"Your statement said…" he began, and she cut him off at the pass with a hand in the air to silence him.

"My statement was influenced by a combination of caffeine and prescription migraine medication. The doctors assure me that as long as I cut back on the caffeine, hallucinations of those kind will never occur again," Rebecca said firmly, still holding out the freebie button.

Why won't he take the stupid button and go away?

"Right," he said, with a hint of disbelief in his tone. He looked down at the button and then back at her again.

"It's free," she encouraged him, and he took it from her hand slowly.

_Finally._

"Uh, thanks," he said, staring at the button with a quizzical look and then back at her again.

Rebecca looked at the clock and wasn't able to suppress the small "Eep!" that escaped her lips. She grabbed her microphone and switched on the speakers quickly. "Your library is now closed. We will reopen at nine, tomorrow morning. Have a wonderful evening and we look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

She switched off the mic quickly; she was one minute past closing time. He'd distracted her, and oh great, he was staring at her again.

"That's you that always says that?" he asked.

"Of course." she resisted the urge to shoo him with her hands.

"I wondered. I always liked the little speech at the end," he said thoughtfully. "They don't usually do that in libraries."

There was usually a little script, but because it was one minute past closing time, she'd skipped it. Ordinarily she would let the patrons know of new books or interests they could look forward to in the following days.

Once, Fredericke Davison had come and read from his newest novel, "A Passion of Art." It was an exciting day and she'd been thrilled. Only three people had shown up, including Rebecca, but it was still a good time, in her opinion. She had even baked muffins. Blueberry, with a streusel topping.

"You sound nice. On the microphone," he added and she was somewhat insulted. Was he implying she wasn't being nice now?

Then again, she probably wasn't, she admitted to herself. She didn't trust his dimples or horror novel reading.

"I'll check those out for you," she offered, holding out her hands. "Save you the wait in line," she explained, because she could, in fact, be nice.

Plus, it would get rid of him quicker and she could get to business.

He thanked her and she quickly ran his library card, noted that he had one overdue item, and she mentioned it.

A hint of pink crept into his cheeks, which surprised her, and said he'd bring it back tomorrow.

"That would be wonderful. There's another patron waiting for that copy of Harry Potter, so I'm sure she will be thrilled," Rebecca explained as nicely as possible to let him know the consequences of not returning a book on time. Someone else was possibly waiting.

His cheeks began to bloom a darker red, and Rebecca chalked it up to his faux pas, and not the fact that he was a grown man reading Harry Potter. Lots of adults did, and at least it wasn't horror. They were somewhat entertaining, and Rebecca herself had read the first three.

"It's not a huge fine, or anything," she explained, hoping it would ease his embarrassment. It wasn't her place to humiliate him, just to let him know that a timely return was expected.

He cleared his throat, smiled and nodded once while Rebecca quickly checked the rest of his books out. She handed them back in a stack; his library card and computer print out on top that boldly stated the date in which the books were due back.

She usually told the customer the date, but considering the fact he was already embarrassed, she didn't fell the need to keep bringing it up.

"Maybe I should walk you out. You know, since the police still haven't caught their guy," he offered, and Rebecca, as much as she needed to get rid of him, honestly wanted to accept.

What she had to do was not something that she was looking forward to, at all. She'd felt dread and apprehension all day, but he was not a library employee and therefore, had to exit the building.

_Now. _

"I'll be fine. We've hired a new security guard, and I have some work to finish," Rebecca smiled as politely and serenely as possible. "Thank you for your offer Mr….Winchester," she finished after glancing back at the screen.

"Sam." He held out his hand and Rebecca took it, since not taking it would seem rude, but she hadn't ruled him out as potential stalker psycho just yet.

"Rebecca Jacobs," she introduced herself since he'd already read her name tag, and they shook hands.

"I'm reading it to my niece," he blurted out.

"Pardon?" she asked, and he kept shaking her hand.

"Uh, Harry Potter. I…my niece likes it," he explained.

"Okayyy," Rebecca replied. It really wasn't her business what he intended to use the library materials for, as long as they were returned in good condition.

"She's out of town though, and we didn't finish," he said, still not letting go of her hand.

"Well, uh, you could renew," Rebecca offered since that was the proper course of action, though she felt bad for the poor girl waiting on "The Prisoner of Azkaban".

"But someone is waiting." He looked like he felt guilty.

"You could return it tomorrow, and then place a reserve on it so that as soon as she's finished, you'll be notified that it is available for pick up," Rebecca suggested, thinking that maybe he wasn't so bad if he was being considerate of another person.

"That sounds good," he agreed and gave her another big smile, showing his dimples once more.

They really were quite nice, now that she thought about it. She realized that he was still holding her hand, and it was starting to sweat. He followed her gaze, apparently just remembering himself, and dropped her hand quickly, mumbling an apology.

There was no way that a man could make her hands sweat. She wasn't in high school, and hadn't been for a long time. It was the sweater. It was way too warm, even with the air conditioning. That was to blame for the fact that she felt a little over heated, and not just her hands. Really, she needed to get rid of him, not try and think of something clever to say.

"Well, that's what we're here for, to serve," Rebecca said brightly and winced inwardly. Could she sound any more stupid? To serve?

"Hey," a woman's voice said, coming from behind her. She saw Sam look surprised, and Rebecca whirled around. It was closing time, and _where_ were all these people coming from?

Rebecca recognized the woman; she was the police detective from the other day.

_Wonderful._

"Hello," Rebecca greeted her stiffly. "We're closing, Detective."

"I have some more questions for you," she replied, her voice stern and her face grim. Rebecca's heart fell into her stomach. Were they going to charge her after all? She forgot all about dimples, and sweaty hands; instead, she concentrated on remembering her divorce attorney's number. He handled divorces, but maybe he could recommend a lawyer for a criminal defense case.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Rebecca asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid it can't," Detective -something or other- said back, a bit frostily. Rebecca couldn't remember her name, but the detective had been fairly clear that she didn't much believe Rebecca's story.

"I uh…" Sam began, looking at the detective somewhat warily.

"I only need a few minutes. Maybe we could grab that coffee after?" the detective asked him.

"You're… a detective?" Sam asked. The detective smiled, and actually played with her hair, tossing it over her shoulder like a bad, cheesy shampoo commercial.

Rebecca caught a whiff, and had to grudgingly admit that it did smell pretty nice. A lot better than the stuff she buys at the discount store. Though, her stuff works just fine, it's just missing that extra perfume is all, and why spend three times as much for perfume? She could spend that money on--

"After I talk to Miss Jacobs, I'm due for a coffee break," the detective said to Sam, a little too flirtatiously, in Rebecca's opinion.

"Well, I guess I'll wait outside while you work," Sam said, flashing a dimpled smile at the detective before walking away.

Rebecca watched Sam walk away, and held back a sigh before turning back to the detective again. She didn't have the detective's attention however, because the detective was still watching Sam leave the building.

_Okay that's just…_

"Hello?" Rebecca asked, annoyed.

"Uh, right," she answered, tearing her gaze away from Sam who was almost to the door. "Just a few more questions; we'll wrap this up quick," she promised Rebecca who tried her best to look calm, instead of afraid and annoyed.

Well, at least she had someone around with a gun.

~*~

"Sammy, you need to come to Pittsburgh," Dean whispered urgently into the phone.

"Why?!!?" Sam asked frantically.

"I'm gonna kill her, Sam. Or burn down her doll collection, and then she'll try to kill me. Then again, I'd just be defending myself, right? That's totally self defense," Dean mused out loud.

"Dean, I thought something was wrong with the kids!" Sam yelled.

"Hey, there IS, okay? They're stuck with that wack job for a grandmother," Dean defended himself. He'd considered calling Sam about what he thought he heard Bobby saying in his sleep, but had changed his mind at the last minute. Besides, he probably imagined it; he'd been dreaming about Hell and was just shook up. His imagination was just working overtime.

"I'm busy." Sam sounded completely annoyed, and Dean could picture the bitch face perfectly. The mental image actually made him more home sick than he was before.

"Doing what?" Dean asked. "Did we get the oil filters like we were supposed to?"

"Yeah, we got them this morning. Why did you buy so many?" Sam asked.

"They were on sale," Dean explained. "Duh."

"We don't even have room for them all," Sam told him. "I unpacked for three hours."

"Well, maybe I should come back then. Help you find room," Dean hinted, hopeful that his little brother would bail him out.

"Oh no. No way. Sarah won't buy it and I'm not even getting in the middle of that," Sam refused.

"See if you can find a hunt or something. Something out this way. I can swing by and pick them up when it's time to head back," Dean said in a rush. He could hear Sarah and her mother coming around to the back of the house and he had to hurry.

"What's that? I can't hear you. You're breaking up!" Sam pretended.

"Don't you…Sam! Don't throw me under the bus like this," Dean warned.

"Can't hear you! I'll call you later. I'm kind of busy right now," Sam told him.

"Don't you hang up. Dammit, you're my brother-" Dean stopped before the door opened. "Hey Sarah! Mother Pete."

"Have fun!" Sam laughed maniacally and promptly hung up on him.

"What's that? A problem at the garage? Wow, well see what you can do Sam. You know we're visiting with the family." Dean pretended to talk to Sam, and be put out at the very _idea_ of being bothered while on "vacation".

"Oh, let me say hi," Sarah requested with her hand out.

"What? Can't….Sammy? You there man?" Dean pretended to lose the signal.

He hung up with an apologetic smile on his face. "Lost him. He'll call back."

"How is he? Are they eating okay?" Sarah asked.

Before Dean could answer, Naomi interrupted. "They're grown men, Sarah. They'll be fine. Come help me put the groceries away," she ordered Sarah like she was a child. It was making Dean insane, especially how Sarah just did it, without argument.

Sarah never did anything that _he_ said like that. Worse, whatever her mother wanted, trumped whatever he wanted. They had both agreed that they were tired of being paraded around Naomi's neighbors and friends, and decided last night that they would hang out around the house, maybe work on the stupid list Naomi had given him "to make him useful". Instead, her mother declared that she wanted to go to another stupid cookout that the neighbors were having.

Next thing he knew, Sarah was running around and dressing the kids up again, and telling him to change into something more "presentable". Suddenly his jeans and old t-shirt weren't good enough, and she was shoving him into the shower.

When he got out of the shower and came downstairs, Naomi had smirked at him when Sarah's back was turned. Apparently, it was a contest, and he wasn't losing. He doesn't _do_ losing, and Sarah is _his_ wife.

Oh no, he wasn't losing now that he knew the rules of the game.

"Sarah, can you look at this splinter? I think I might have gotten it infected," Dean said casually. Sarah dropped what she was doing immediately, and came running over to look at Dean's boo-boo.

While Sarah inspected his hand, he gave Naomi a wicked smirk over Sarah's head to let her know that he accepted her challenge. Naomi narrowed her eyes at him.

Oh yeah, it was _on_.

~*~

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

~*~

Chapter Five

~*~

"So you left on Tuesday night, and didn't return until Wednesday morning?" Detective Billings asked for the third time.

"I left Tuesday night and went to the grocery store. After leaving there, I went directly home and didn't leave until it was time to come in on Wednesday morning to open up." Rebecca maintained direct eye contact and tried to be as clear as possible.

"Anyone see you at home? Did you have any visitors who can back up that story?" Billings asked her suspiciously.

"No. I don't even have a pet," Rebecca said, annoyed. She'd left everything behind to come here; her family, her few friends, even her goldfish, because she was sure that Snuffleupagus wouldn't have survived such a long journey in the car.

"Why's that?" Billings asked quickly.

"Because I just bought the house and haven't had time to look for one?" Rebecca couldn't help making it sound like a question because really, what did pet ownership have to do with anything?

"So you're new to town." Billings stated, not needing to ask, since Rebecca already told her that.

"Yes, I've only been here six months. I came here for the job." Rebecca resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Where are you from?" Billings continued to question. Rebecca had already explained the entire story to the woman last night, and was dangerously close to losing her temper. She was determined not to engage in such un-lady like behavior like shouting because it was, well, un-lady like, and probably a bad idea to shout at detectives.

"I have already explained all of that last night," Rebecca said slowly and calmly. "If you truly believe that I am capable of overpowering a man that outweighs me by sixty pounds, then please, read me my rights and allow me to call my attorney."

Detective Billings narrowed her eyes at her. "I have no idea how you did that," she said, "But I'll figure it out."

"When you do, Detective, please let _me_ know how such a thing could _possibly_ be accomplished," Rebecca tossed back, knowing that her voice had a cuttingly sarcastic edge to it and unable to stop herself.

"Don't leave town," Detective Billings told her, and turned around to leave. Rebecca followed her to make sure that she actually left, and nodded to the new security guard, Bill, to unlock the door for the detective.

"I'll be in touch," Billings said and Sam was there, looking back and forth from one woman to the other.

"You're not leaving?" he asked Rebecca.

"I have some work to finish. It was nice meeting you, and I'll see you tomorrow with that book," she reminded him politely.

For some reason he seemed extremely bothered by the fact that she intended to stay. She didn't have time to stand around and figure it out; she began to pull the glass door shut when he suddenly blurted out, "Uh…why don't you come with us?"

"What?" Both women asked at the same time. Rebecca gave Detective Billings an incredulous look.

"I...we were just going to grab a cup of coffee. The more the merrier," he said, with a fake sounding chuckle.

"Uh…you're inviting a woman on our date?" Detective Billings asked, looking at Sam as if he were crazy. Rebecca had to agree with her on that one.

"No. No. I mean, should she really be here like this? With some crazy on the loose?" he asked Rebecca.

"It's probably not a good idea," Detective Billings said, but gave Rebecca a look that said she was more worried about the new security guard than Rebecca's safety.

"I'll be fine," Rebecca insisted. "But thanks for inviting me on your coffee date?" Wow, she thought he was weird before.

"Well, uh…be careful," he said, looking genuinely worried about her.

"I will," Rebecca promised, thinking of what lay ahead of her. She pushed away the fear, and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"Ready then?" Detective Billings asked him, looking impatient to get going.

"Yeah," Sam answered but he still didn't move. He was either really worried about her safety, or he was a true idiot to invite along a second woman on a date. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the first option.

"Nite," she said before stepping back inside and letting Bill lock up behind them.

Time to get down to business.

~*~

"Bobby?" he heard through a haze of sleep. Bobby struggled to wake up to see what had Lucy sounding so frantic. He realized that he probably had another nightmare and she was probably just worried about him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Go back to sleep Lucy."

"I saw a shadow," Lucy said.

"Um, close your eyes and count to three. It's probably nothing." Bobby was groggy and rubbed at his eyes, opening them just in time to see a shadow flit across the wall.

Adrenaline woke him up the rest of the way. Shadows from trees don't wear…hats.

"Did you see it?" Lucy asked. She sounded like she was hardly breathing.

"It looked like…" Bobby began.

"Peter Pan," Lucy finished.

"That's just a story." Bobby looked around carefully, and got out of bed as quietly as possible. He sat next to Lucy, watching and listening, a hand on her shoulder to quiet her.

"What if it isn't?" she asked, sounding awestruck after several minutes.

The other things that he thought to be stories had turned out to be real so…

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Do you think he's…_here_?" Lucy asked. "What if he asks us to go with him?"

"Calm down, Lucy," Bobby told her, still listening. There was nothing moving though, and he turned on the light.

"Don't!" Lucy complained. "You'll scare him away!"

"Let's say the story is real. It's not him, it's just his shadow," Bobby reasoned.

"He'll come looking for it," Lucy insisted. "If we catch it, maybe he'll take us…"

"No, he won't, because Neverland isn't real. I am sure about that," Bobby said.

"But he might still come, and we could fly," Lucy argued.

That gave Bobby pause. One of the few dreams that he did remember were about flying; it felt so free and natural.

"Turn the light back off," Lucy ordered and Bobby did. He thought he should maybe be yelling "Christo" or get his father, but he stopped himself.

Flying was too attractive a possibility to resist.

~*~

The diner wasn't that far away from the library, so Sam and Danielle had decided to walk over. They didn't talk much; Danielle seemed lost in thought, and Sam had some things on his mind, too.

Sam really thought that he'd gotten over the whole… librarian… thing.

It had started in Biloxi, when he realized that no matter what city they were in, all libraries were basically the same. They quickly became familiar territory, like the back seat of the Impala or cheesy motel rooms.

Then a hunt in Topeka, and Ms. Whittleton had taken a liking to him, helping him find books for his school assigned book reports. With coke-bottle thick, black framed glasses, she'd been interested in him. If he didn't come in for a few days, she would be glad to see him, and say that she'd been worried about him with a light pat to his shoulder.

He did love libraries, reading, and learning; but he eventually loved Ms. Whittleton. He even read the entire Lord of the Rings for her because she mentioned that it was her favorite book, and he'd been desperate to impress her.

While no librarian ever compared to Ms. Whittleton –who later married a construction worker name Tom- he always had a soft spot for them. There was the librarian in Wichita when he was sixteen, and then one in Spokane just three days after his seventeenth birthday. He'd pretend to have a hard time finding something, and they had kindly offered their assistance. He was still underage though, and his crushes had to be satisfied by pretending to need help finding wayward books; he'd cleverly arranged it beforehand.

In Stanford there was Betsy, and she had a fondness for tweed skirts, pearls and high heels. He'd tried three separate attempts to talk to her, but his mouth went dry each and every time. Luckily, she'd finally made the first move, in the back of the reference section, and they were together for about a month.

He mused that it probably shouldn't be surprising; as much time as he spent in libraries he was bound to meet women there, right?

In any case, there was something about them that always made him just a bit nervous, awkward; and he was back to being eleven again with sweaty palms and a painful crush on Ms. Whittleton, laboriously poring over Tolkein's work, late into the night. Dean's taunting had been epic about the thickness of the book, and Sam had shouldered it willingly. For her.

Librarians tended the one of the few places that he'd ever felt any sort of continuity in. There were rules, and they enforced them with a gentle, encouraging hand. Sam tried not to over analyze it too much, because he was almost sup positioning that a librarian was the mother to the library, and that was, well, better not to go there. Besides, it wasn't that exactly, it was more about…well, they were…sort of… in charge.

They weren't that far from the diner when he had a further revelation.

He had a librarian…_kink_.

_Oh. My. God. _

"Sam?" Danielle asked, and he realized that his face was hot. Jesus, he was blushing. "Are you okay?" He was absolutely not okay; he felt like…like…_Dean_.

"Yeah, fine," he lied and tried to push all thoughts about dorky lanyards, pearl necklaces and library authority figures out of his mind.

"You seem a little spaced out," she said as Sam held the door open for her.

"Just thinking about the murders," Sam lied again. "Do you have any leads?"

They grabbed a table by the window, and Sam could see the library clearly. House of knowledge, a place that kids went for book reports, and he was a sick, sick person to have a kink for…

"I had one, but it fell through." Danielle looked dejected.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

The waitress came over and brought them a menu and a cup of coffee. They waved the menus away, and Danielle answered his question. "The only one with access is the meekest, unlikeliest suspect ever. That alone made me suspicious. I mean, she's _too_ meek and sweet, but there's no way she killed them." She sighed and stirred cream into her coffee.

Sam carefully got more out of her. He didn't want to walk in blind, and he didn't have time to do any kind of real research. There were two people inside the building, and he'd like to have an inkling as to what he was dealing with.

Danielle was somewhat frustrated about the case and seemed glad to having someone to bounce ideas off of. Though the two victims had been torn apart, they had each died of drowning and the time of death was not long after the library had closed for the day.

"I leaned on Jacobs pretty hard, but her story is airtight. Not a single fact changed. Besides, like I said, she doesn't have it in her," Danielle finished, still looking depressed. A small girl, about four, walked by holding her Dad's hand and Danielle smiled.

"She's adorable," she commented and Sam agreed.

"I have a niece and a nephew. I kind of miss when they were that small," he admitted.

"I have two nieces. I like kids, but I think I like them belonging to other people better," she joked and Sam laughed.

"I just don't see me having kids, you know? It's really not my thing," she confided and took a sip of coffee.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Sam agreed and was struck suddenly with a thought. "Do you work tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'm off, why?" she asked, smiling at him.

"I thought, you know, maybe we could do this again, but with food and maybe a movie."

"How about I cook you dinner and we rent a movie? Or…whatever," she countered with a sly smile.

He really wished he could stop with the nervous chuckling already, but at least he had the presence of mind to agree, get her address and set a time.

"I actually have to run. I've got an appointment that I forgot about," he lied and she said she had to go back to the station anyway.

He paid the bill and she hinted that she was off at ten.

"I can't tonight." Sam seriously hated to turn her down flat, but he doubted he'd finish the hunt by then. It sounded like a seriously pissed off spirit, but he'd have to use the library first and try to figure out who the ghost was, then find the body.

They said goodbyes, and he gave her an awkward kiss in front of her car. She started to walk away, after he made another promise to call her, and then came back for a less than awkward kiss.

When she pulled away, giving him a seductive half smile, he vowed to shoot the shit out of that freaking spook.

~*~

Rebecca had her night vision goggles firmly in place, her camcorder ready, and she performed yet another walk around the deserted library. She'd sent the security guard home, for his safety, telling him that the detective had said that no one should be there until they caught whoever was responsible for the murders. She let him walk her to her car, and she pretended to leave, only to come right back as soon as he pulled away.

Lying was awful and she felt so dirty.

Her hands trembled, and they were shaking the camcorder so violently that even if she did remember to use it, she was unlikely to get a decent shot of the apparition to prove to them that she was dealing with a real spectre. The email she received had explained that due to his busy schedule, all claims had to be proven in advance with video before he could bring his team in and "clean house".

She was wound tighter than a cello string, and so, when her cell phone began to ring, she screamed once and dropped the camcorder. She watched the lens break off and roll away across the highly polished floor.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed in her frustration and immediately covered her mouth. Lying _and_ cursing? This had to stop. She didn't recognize the number on the telephone, but she answered it anyway.

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for a Rebecca Jacobs," a man's voice said.

"This is she," she replied politely, keeping her tone as controlled as possible and looking around for the ghost.

"Becky! Hey, it's Ed Zeddmore, from GhostFacers!" he exclaimed, sounding more like a radio disc jockey than a professional ghost hunter. She ignored his use of the hated nick name.

"Mr. Zeddmore, I'm so pleased that you called," Rebecca said, a little star struck. She'd watched a few episodes of their show after the murders began, and they certainly seemed highly capable.

"I bet you are," he said, oozing confidence and she thought he sounded a bit stuck on himself, but if he could help…

"I'm here at the library now, but I dropped the camcorder and it broke." Rebecca admitted her shortcomings as an amateur "Ghost Facer In-Training" as they referred to it on the website.

"Right now?" Ed asked, sounding a lot less confident now.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Rebecca asked nervously. She felt a damp chill, and wrapped an arm about her waist out of reflex.

"Well, here's the thing, Becky. Our email is automated. You know, to weed out the crazies. I just got your letter and from what you've described, it sounds like you've got a Level Four Screamer on your hands," Ed explained.

"Oh my," Rebecca said in shock. She didn't know what that was, but it sounded very, very bad.

"Are you there alone Becky?" he asked, and she could hear some voices in the background, as if an argument was going on.

"Yes." Becky was even colder now, and she tried to remain calm but she shivered involuntarily.

"Okay, I need you to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say, okay babe?" he went on, his tone very serious and commanding.

"What should I do, Ed?" she asked, blinking back frightened tears.

"Run like a cat out of hell," he intoned.

"What?!" Rebecca nearly screamed.

"That's _bat_ out of hell, you idiot, and I told you that an automated email system was a stupid idea," she heard a woman berate Ed in the background.

"Ed?" Rebecca asked.

"Shut UP! I'm working here!" Ed yelled at the woman. "Becky, you still with me?"

"Yes?" Rebecca whispered, unable to make her voice cooperate more than that. She heard a small noise coming from the back of the library.

"Run like a _bat_ out of hell," Ed intoned yet again.

There was another noise; Rebecca jumped, and screamed in fright, dropping her cell phone.

"RUN BECKY! RUN!" she heard Ed's tinny voice say from the floor.

"There's something in here," she whispered, knowing that he couldn't hear her, but she was alone, and stuck with something called a Level Four Screamer that had already killed two people.

She was going to die with a wanna be disc jockey calling her "Becky" over and over.

She felt, rather than heard something behind her and before she could turn, something grabbed her. Rebecca did the only thing she knew how to do; she screamed bloody murder.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

Chapter Six

~*~

Sam couldn't get the librarian to move or stop screaming. The thing was nearly on top of them, so while he regretted manhandling her, he had no choice but to push her out of the way and take the shot. She landed on the floor, still screaming her head off.

He hit it dead on, but it kept coming.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, grabbing his Beretta and fired quickly. He hit it square in the abdomen; there was a high pitch screeching noise, and it ducked behind one of the bookcases. He puzzled over what it was for a second before turning his attention back to Rebecca.

She had finally stopped screaming, and was just staring at him in shock. He had been about to chase after it, but one look at her and he changed tactics. He needed to get her out first.

"Move!" he ordered. He bent down and grabbed her arm, hoisting her up off the ground. He made a mental note to ask her later about the crazy looking night vision goggles and the bible tucked into the waistband of her pants.

On her way to her feet, she made a frantic grab for her cell phone. Once he had her upright, Sam dragged her along, heading to the back entrance where he had come in from. He heard another scream of pain and rage, close behind them. He whirled around and aimed again, but the thing was fast and hid again behind more bookshelves. He fired anyway, bits of papers exploding into the air, and Rebecca screamed again.

Sam thought it had somehow doubled around and gotten behind him, turning quickly, but it was just Rebecca. "That's the history section!" she said frantically, looking distraught. "I think you just shot the battle of Gettsyburg!"

Was she kidding?

"Let's go," he said, grabbing her arm again when she took a step towards the blasted book, apparently intent on investigating. He felt a lot less apprehensive about the whole man handling thing.

"It's a Level Four Screamer!" she told him, trying to take off the goggles, but they got caught in her hair and she fumbled with them for a second.

Sam couldn't really do much more than just blink at her.

He really didn't have time to ask her about it; he needed to get her out of there so he could regroup and figure out what it was. He'd hurt it with the silver, but it hadn't killed it. Mostly, he just seemed to piss it off. He kept a wary eye out and she finally got the goggles off, long strands of hair caught in the buckle adjustment.

"Ed? Ed?" she began calling in her cell. "Darn it. He's gone!"

"Who?" Sam asked, and he felt a rush of cold damp air. He stopped and turned; it was less than three feet from them and he fired, hitting it in the chest. It moved quickly for cover and he couldn't believe how fast it was. It could be a ghost, judging by the speed, but then the salt rounds should have-

"FREEZE!!" he heard a woman's voice yell, deadly serious. Sam turned to his right, Danielle was there, her gun trained on him.

"There's a Level Four Screamer! You have to get out of the library!" Rebecca yelled at her. She was obviously hysterical, and clearly a lot off balance, but Sam couldn't deal with that now. He had bigger problems at the moment.

"Put the gun down." Danielle ordered.

"Listen, we have to get out of here. Now," Sam said, while still keeping his eye out for it.

"Yes! We need to get out of here until Ed can get here!" Rebecca readily agreed. Sam glanced at her in confusion, decided that she _definitely_ took more than just migraine medication, and turned his attention back to Danielle.

"There is something in here with us. I shot it three times, and it's still alive," Sam explained calmly. "I can't put the gun down because I need it, and I need you to come with us."

"Bullshit. Let her go!" Danielle ordered, her face deadly serious.

"I'm not a captive!" Rebecca called to her.

"See?" Sam asked Danielle, still trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "Not a captive."

"Although… why _do_ you carry two guns around? Who does that? And how did you even get in here anyway?" Rebecca asked suspiciously, not really helping Sam's case at all. "I know I locked that door."

"Put it down. NOW," Danielle ordered again.

"Let go of me," Rebecca said and started trying to tug her arm free. He had his hand wrapped around both her arm and the barrel of his shotgun, and if she kept fighting him, it wasn't going to take much for her to get free.

"Will everyone shut up and freaking listen!!" Sam yelled, completely out of patience. "You are coming with me before that thing gets a hold of you. It seems to like library employees and you're the only library employee here right now!" he told Rebecca and she fell silent and still, making a face that said that he had a point worth agreeing with.

"And _you_, are in lot of danger. Come with us, and I'll try and explain." Sam told Danielle who continued to regard him with suspicion of murder.

"Danielle, please." They needed to get the hell out of there before it regrouped and attacked again.

"All those questions; you were trying to see if I was onto you," she said, giving him a look of disgust.

"No, okay? I swear, just listen a second," Sam argued and took a half a step forward.

He heard the gunshot long before he ever felt a thing.

"Oh my God, she just shot you!!" Rebecca exclaimed as if Sam didn't _know_ that. Sam fell forward, leaning against the polished, shiny reading table, clutching his shoulder. He felt like his entire arm was on fire, and then he couldn't feel his hand at all.

"Run!" Danielle yelled at Rebecca.

"No! You just shot him!" Rebecca argued, putting herself between Danielle and Sam before she could take a second shot. "I'm a tax payer, and if…if you shoot_ me_, then I'll sue your ass!" she shouted at Danielle angrily.

"You stupid…" Danielle started to say, but the thing came out of nowhere suddenly, rushing her and before Sam could even think about switching to his good arm to aim and fire, Danielle was dragged away in the blink of an eye. He heard a few screams, another gunshot, and then silence.

Rebecca started screaming again, and he pushed her along, steering them towards the back door. "You get outside, okay?" he told her hastily. "Don't come back in."

"What about you?" she asked him.

"I'm going after Danielle." He reloaded his gun in a hurry, while she watched, wide eyed.

"But you're shot and…bleeding!" she argued.

"Will you just…go?" he begged. It was going to be hard enough without babysitting her on top of things.

"I'm coming with you," she insisted. "It's my library."

"You can't come with me," he argued and kept steering her towards the back door. There was no way he was letting her come. She'd slow him down with her tripping and incoherent babbling.

"I know every inch of the building," Rebecca stated matter of factly.

"That's great," Sam told her. "Time to learn every inch of the outside now."

"You can't kick me out of my own library. I'm the director!" she shouted at him.

"You want to come and get killed by that thing?" he shouted back. "Be my guest!"

"It's a Level Four Screamer and I just need to call Ed back and he'll tell us how to deal with it," Rebecca said angrily.

"What in the _hell_ are you talking about?" he demanded to know.

"Ed Zeddmore from Ghostfacers. I called him and…" She started to trail off when she looked at Sam's face. He knew his mouth was open but he didn't feel like closing it just yet. It explained the stupid outfit and the babbling. He spied a camcorder lens on the floor, on his way out, and it suddenly clicked that she'd been trying to get the monster on film.

"You called…Ed Zeddmore?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, I emailed them. They have a very informative web site that explains…"

"Okay, bye bye," Sam told her and started shoving her to the back door again.

"Ow! Stop it!" she yelled at him.

"Ow? I'm the one who got shot, remember?!" Sam yelled back. He couldn't ever remember getting so angry in his life with a 'civilian', but Jesus Christ, she was nuts and she listened to those _idiots_. She could have gotten herself killed; she _would_ have gotten herself killed if he hadn't come along.

Sam opened the back door and shoved her outside, closing it shut before she could finish her next statement.

He went in search of Danielle, and hoped he wasn't too late.

~*~

"Boy Sarah, I'd love to go to the movies, but man, my back hurts. I think I pulled something when I was fixing your mother's roof," Dean complained, rubbing his lower back. He threw in a well timed grimace for good measure.

"Oh no, are you okay?" Sarah asked, her face concerned for him.

"I could probably use a rub down; it's totally locked up. But you go ahead with your Mom," Dean lied.

"Locked up. Poor baby," Sarah said, setting down her purse.

"Thought that hot shower was going to loosen it up, but no dice," Dean lied some more, laying it on extra thick. "I know how much your Mom was looking forward to seeing "Chicks in the City Four."

"It's Sex in the City Four," Sarah corrected him.

"Oh, right," Dean said.

"Well, you heard him. Let's go," Naomi said at once.

"Mom, the man can hardly walk," Sarah said looking outraged.

"He'll be fine. We'll leave the kids here with him instead of Gladys," Naomi insisted, looking gleeful at the idea of getting to go to the movies and without Dean to boot.

"Honey, let me get you a beer," Sarah said and when she left the room, Dean gave Naomi a beaming smile. Naomi narrowed her eyes and pulled out her next card.

"Well, I really had my heart set on seeing it with you Sarah, and you know I can't drive in the dark," she called into the kitchen, giving Dean an evil smirk.

"Oh! Oh god!" Dean pretended to have a spasm and smirked right back.

"Dean!" Sarah called sweetly, coming from the kitchen with a beer in her hand. She tossed it at him and he caught it, but her throw was way short and he had to really reach for it.

"Oh look! You're healed," Naomi said gleefully while Sarah fixed him with a frosty "you are so busted" look.

"Heh, guess it just needed a little stretching," Dean said, pretending to stretch his back out some more.

"I have HAD IT with you two!" Sarah yelled.

"What?" Naomi asked in shock.

"I don't know what is wrong with you two, but you are my mother and you are my husband. I love you both and I really, really DON"T LIKE EITHER ONE OF YOU RIGHT NOW!" Sarah shouted.

"Sarah, whoa. Calm down," Dean said nervously. He'd never seen her so pissed off.

"Calm DOWN?!?" Sarah bellowed. "This…this contest, or whatever you two have going on, has to STOP!" Sarah yelled at the both of them, eyes flashing angrily, and Dean thought that maybe it was horrible timing, but… she looked hot.

"I am going to the movies, by myself. I need to get away from you two. While I am gone you WILL call some sort of truce because I'm not putting up with this shit for another minute!!" Sarah shouted.

"I have no idea what you are talking about…" Naomi started to deny and Sarah glared at her until her voice trailed off.

"Make sure the kids are in bed by ten, and no soda after seven!" Sarah told Dean and grabbed her purse up, storming out of the house and slamming the door shut behind her.

"Wait a second. We didn't bring her…" Dean started to say and got as far as the door when he heard his girl being started up and the engine revved.

"Oh no!! Don't you dare take my…" Dean didn't get to finish because squealing tires muffled his outrage, and he was already looking at taillights.

"She just took my car. My CAR!!" Dean yelled at Naomi.

"You see what you did?" Naomi reprimanded him.

"What I did?" Dean demanded. "What _you_ did; ordering her around like she's some little kid!"

"She is my kid, mister, and don't you forget it!" Naomi shouted back.

"She's MY wife!" Dean yelled.

"She was mine first!" Naomi shouted, matching Dean's tone timbre for timbre.

"She's MINE now!!" Dean argued, raising his voice even higher.

"You're the worst thing that ever happened to her!" Naomi yelled. "She could have been somebody!"

"She is somebody!" Dean heard from the stairs. Lucy and Bobby were standing there, Bobby with a hand on Lucy's shoulder and Lucy's eyes brimming over with tears. "She's our mom!"

Naomi looked at the kids, her mouth open, but no words would come out.

"Okay, Lucy. It's okay. Me and Grandma were just having a talk is all," Dean told her, and Lucy stomped a foot down angrily and stormed down the rest of the steps. "Where are you going?" he asked as she headed for the back door, Bobby at her heels.

"Away from here! I hate adults! You're all stupid heads!" Lucy yelled over her shoulder.

"Lucy!" Dean barked and was surprised when neither kid halted.

As Bobby passed, he gave Dean a look that seemed to say he'd watch after her.

~*~

"Lucy, will you wait up?!" Bobby yelled to her, running as fast as he could, but she'd had a head start. He never knew she could run so fast.

When she finally slowed and he caught up to her, her face was stained with tears and she was wiping them away with her sleeve.

"They're just fighting," Bobby told her.

"I know, but I hate it. Why can't they all get along?" Lucy asked him.

"I don't know," Bobby admitted and she started to cry again. Bobby, glad they weren't at home where anyone he'd know would see him, hugged her until she calmed down again.

"Ready to go back?" Bobby asked, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood.

"No. Can we just walk for awhile?" Lucy asked hopefully. Bobby should have known better than to think she'd just want to head back. Her favorite game was "exploring" and they used to have all kinds of imaginary adventures in the salvage yard, pretending the stacked cars were tall buildings. Here, in a real city, they could explore for real.

"We can't go too far. Dad will kill us," Bobby told her.

"Just to there," Lucy said pointing down the side walk, "I'm not allowed to cross the street without an adult yet, anyway," she pouted.

Bobby knew that the marker she'd pointed out wasn't going to be enough when they got there. Lucy would want to keep going, keep exploring, but she wouldn't break the "no crossing the street rule" no matter how annoyed she was with being treated like a baby.

"Ready to explore?" he asked his little sister with a smile. Lucy beamed, the only trace of her earlier tears nearly gone.

A short walk was worth making her feel better. After all, Bobby reasoned, without crossing any streets, the most they could do was go around the block. What was the worst that could happen?

~*~

"It's gonna get dark soon," Bobby hinted on their third trip around the block. They'd carefully avoided Grandma's house with a sneaky stealth, in case Dad was watching for them.

"One more time," Lucy begged.

"Lucy…" Bobby started to argue when he saw a shadow darting from the corner of his eye.

"Did you see?" Lucy asked, in awe. "It was him!"

"No, it was just a car, and headlights and…" Bobby stopped when the shadow came back, dancing on the brick wall looking exactly as depicted in Lucy's book, and waving at them. Even the feather on his cap seemed to have a life of its own, and it waved back and forth.

"Peter Pan?" Lucy asked, starting to walk away from Bobby. Bobby grabbed her arm.

"No, Lucy," he argued, holding her back.

The shadow nodded as if to say, "Yes, it's me." and then motioned to follow it with a crooked index finger.

"He wants us to go with him!" Lucy said excitedly.

"I don't like this," Bobby said, tightening his grip on his sister's arm until his knuckles turned white.

"Ow, Bobby. Stop it!" Lucy ordered, her face screwed up in pain.

"We have to go home, now." Bobby told her urgently, not loosening his hold on her at all. He started to walk away, to try and drag her.

"Look!" Lucy argued, digging her heels into and resisting Bobby's efforts.

Bobby looked back, and the shadow was now trying to get their attention. He flitted and flipped, and then pretended to be sad about them leaving. Again, it motioned for them to follow. This time it seemed less playful and friendly, and much more urgent.

"Bobby, please? Maybe…" Lucy began to whine.

"We can't…" Bobby began and suddenly another shadow appeared on the walk in front of him, dwarfing his own that had come from the street light.

"What's this?" a man's voice said, making both kids jump. Bobby turned around to see a policeman standing there, looking at them expectantly.

Bobby swallowed hard as the policeman looked them over. The shadow flitted around the buildings, and Bobby could see it just over the policeman's shoulder motioning and pointing, still trying to get them to go with it.

"Shouldn't you two be at home?" the policeman asked them, smiling and crouching down until he was their height. He seemed friendly enough, and Bobby finally exhaled.

"We're going home now, sir," Bobby said at once. "We lost track of the time."

"I should say so," the policeman said, smiling big at Lucy. "How about I give you two a ride home in the police car? Huh? I'll even let you turn on the sirens, if you want. Can't let a pretty little girl like you wander around the streets," he said, cupping a hand under Lucy's chin briefly. Something about it made Bobby uneasy, and even Lucy seemed to flinch a little.

_"You never, ever get into a stranger's car."_

_"If you are ever lost, find a policeman. They are there to help you. A policeman is an adult that you can trust."_

The peter pan like shadow seemed absolutely beside itself now, flipping, waving, and jumping; it seemed to lift off the bricks walls and stand on the sidewalk. It was hard to tell, the failing light making it hard for Bobby to see, and the policeman was waiting patiently for Bobby to give him an answer. He tried not to look at the shadow directly, but he could tell that it was waving for them to follow him.

Bobby was trying to rationalize whether a policeman qualified as a stranger when the most important rule popped into his head.

_"You ever see something not right, Bobby, you yell 'Christo', guard your sister and wait until I can get to you."_

He didn't even think about it, he blurted out the word.

The policeman flinched and gave Bobby an ugly smile; his eyes black as coal and Bobby was so scared, he couldn't move.

"Christo, Christo, Christo!" Bobby repeated, following his father's orders in his fear, too paralyzed to move. The policeman snarled and grabbed both of their arms, but Bobby still didn't think to try and run until Lucy's screams made their way past his wall of fear.

"CHRISTO!!" Bobby screamed and when the policeman flinched again, Bobby used the distraction to his advantage and tried to pull away. The demon seemed to be hit from behind and they both tugged away as hard as they could.

Shadow had moved and was on the storefront to their right. It continued to motion urgently, and while he had previously thought following a Peter Pan shaped shadow was a bad idea, Bobby Winchester was taking all the help that he could get.

They ran, using a shadow as a guide, and broke more rules than they could count.

Including, but not limited to, crossing streets without an adult present.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

~*~

Chapter Seven

~*~

Dean paced the living room, while Naomi continued to glare at him from the sofa. The kids had been about an hour now, and it was starting to get dark. They knew the rules; they'd come home. They were just testing him a little, pushing it because they were angry.

He stopped and looked at the time again. They were just trying to make him worry. Kids did that. Sure.

He'd have to punish them, nothing really too harsh since they were acting out because they were upset. He wasn't his father after all; he wasn't going to come down too hard on them.

But still, he couldn't let it go unpunished either. Especially where Lucy was concerned. He'd let her blonde pigtails and big blue eyes walk all over him, and he wasn't doing her any favors by letting her get away with murder like she'd been doing. He knew she'd been testing him lately, trying to see what she could get away with. She was smart, and she reminded him of his mother in a way that actually hurt a little.

Which, was probably his best excuse for letting her off the hook so much.

Still, he didn't want to see her grow up spoiled. Not his kid. No way.

And _screw_ this waiting shit.

"Where are you going?" Naomi asked, standing up at once.

"None of your business," Dean growled at her.

"I'm coming with you," Naomi said, drawing herself up as if she was prepared to do battle again.

"No way," Dean told her, sidestepping her and heading for the door.

Somehow, she ended back in front of him again. For an old lady, she was sure spry.

"They're my grandchildren," she said. "I want to…apologize to them." Naomi swallowed hard, and to Dean it looked like she'd bit off a piece of pride and forced it down.

"If you can't keep up…" Dean warned. No way was he waiting on her old ass.

"I mall walk with Gladys," Naomi informed him stiffly. "You worry about yourself. Getting kinda pudgy there, Winchester." She poked his midsection with a wrinkled index finger and glared at him.

Before Dean could toss an insult her way, she had the door open and was halfway down the porch steps.

Damn, she _was_ fast for an old biddy. Dean stepped out quickly and slammed the front door shut behind him

"And I'm not pudgy!"

~*~

"Bobby, I'm scared," Lucy said, clinging to him tightly.

"Just be quiet, okay? If we stay quiet, he won't find us," Bobby whispered, taking his sleeve and wiping away Lucy's tears.

"How do we get back?" Lucy asked tearfully. They'd found an unlocked door, and were hiding inside the closet, sitting on the floor together.

"I don't know. It's okay, though. We'll find a phone and call Dad's cell," he whispered back.

"What was he? Why were his eyes black?" Lucy asked, starting to cry again.

"A bad thing, Lucy," Bobby whispered. "A very bad thing and we have to stay quiet until it goes away. Then we'll call Dad."

"I'm scared," she sniffled again.

"I'm going to take care of you, Lucy," Bobby promised her. It was his job, to look after his little sister.

"Shadow will help us," Lucy said. Bobby wasn't so sure about that. It had led them away from the demon and he hadn't seen it since. Once, he'd brushed up against it, and had felt instantly cold. He wasn't letting it get near his sister, and the Peter Pan theory was completely evaporated. It was cold in the closet, too and he thought maybe the shadow was inside with them, but he wasn't sure.

"Just…close your eyes Luce. Okay?" Bobby asked her, hoping she wouldn't ask any more questions about what made the policeman's eyes black like that.

_"I'm sorry son, but demons are real. I wish I didn't have to tell you this. You don't know how much I wish that. Haven't seen one since before you were born, and you might never see one. But they're real, all the same, and you need to know that. In case they find a way to come back."_

For some reason, the knowledge hadn't scared Bobby at all. He thought it should, maybe, but at the time, it didn't. He'd had this feeling, that there were things out there, and when his Dad confirmed it he felt more relieved to know he was right, rather than afraid.

But Lucy, she might be scared to know that the things in the movies were real. She was already scared enough as it was and he hated lying to her, but he wasn't making it worse by telling her the truth, either.

Lucy rested her head on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his waist as if he might try and leave. He didn't know if she really closed her eyes, it was too dark in the closet, but she was quiet and he was grateful for that.

Bobby closed his eyes and prayed, thanking God for that mercy.

~*~

Dean wanted to punch something in frustration.

An hour ago a woman said she saw two children running from a policeman, screaming a weird word at the top of their lungs.

"I think it was Crisco," the woman had said looking confused. "Maybe it's a gang thing?" she asked Dean who was shook when he realized what they had probably been shouting.

To her credit, Naomi not only kept up okay, she was shoulder to shoulder to Dean; even when he broke into a slow jog, looking for signs of where they might have gone to hide. All she had on were those polyester short pants, and a thin tank top, and of course, her ever present fanny pack. She never complained though, about being cold from the night air or tired. He kept asking her, though, eager to get rid of her in case they ran into the demon.

He'd taught Bobby to try and find someplace that offered an exit. But he had his sister with him, so Dean couldn't guess what his reaction would be. He might settle for anything, in an effort to keep her safe.

He felt like he was going to hyperventilate; worry had a strong grip on him, and he couldn't shake free from it. There wasn't time though, he needed to get a hold of himself. Pretend it was a job, like any other job, or he'd never find his children.

Later, he could wonder how those sons of bitches got out of hell. It was supposed to be sealed. There was supposed to be no way out. No cracks or fissures. No way to deal with a higher ranking demon. Nothing was supposed to get out. _Nothing. _

But first, he needed his kids back. He just needed to think, if he could think, and stop being so damn afraid for them he might be able to…

Naomi made a noise suddenly and stopped abruptly. His first reaction was to make good on his promise to leave her behind, but he stopped anyway, looking back at her. She had her head down, and he looked at her feet. Maybe she'd tripped.

He saw her wiping at her face though, and realized she was just crying. They really, really, didn't have time for this.

"Why don't you go back. Wait for Sarah," Dean told her.

Naomi's picked her head up and gave him a determined look. "No. Those are my grand babies out there. My _daughter's children_."

"I'll find them," Dean said with a confidence he wasn't feeling right now.

"I know that," Naomi said with absolute certainty, surprising Dean. "When you do, I'm going to be there."

"You're not tired?" he asked, but not meaning physically. Her usually stern face was showing her age, worn and worried. He doubted it looked much different from his own, really.

"You all think I'm stupid, don't you?" she asked him sharply.

He didn't have time for another epic Naomi showdown and Dean started to walk away. She caught up to him, though, and grabbed his wrist.

"Sarah's father was a cop. I was scared every day that he left our house. You know what? It wasn't a baseless worry. One day when Sarah was twelve his Captain showed up at three o' clock in the afternoon. I still remember the time, what it was like outside. It was raining, in case you were curious." Naomi said, and the change in topic made Dean think she'd lost it. He knew about Sarah's father, a sad story, but irrelevant to the task at hand. He started to pull his arm free from the older woman's grasp.

"You don't think Sarah worries every time you leave?" Naomi demanded from him. "Don't you think I wanted better for her than a lifetime of worry and a widow's mantle?"

That stopped Dean short. Sarah and he had an agreement that Naomi would never understand about hunting, and Sarah promised that she hadn't told her mother.

"You think I'm stupid," Naomi said again, looking angry. "But mechanics don't leave home for that many business trips. I hear that worry in her voice when I call and you're off on a supposed business trip. I _know_ that worry. Maybe you know your way around under a hood, but you are _no_ mechanic, Dean Winchester."

"Of course I'm a mechanic," Dean started to lie and she interrupted him again.

"Last time you came here, I saw that tattoo. The one you've got; the one that Sarah has. I looked it up after you left. It's to prevent demonic possession. Crazy stuff. Turns out all that salt you toss around is supposed to keep ghosts and demons out," Naomi said firmly, still standing her ground, chin jutting out.

"Naomi…"

"At first I thought you were some kind of crazy devil worshipper, but my daughter's no idiot and those kids are beautiful and smart. Means you're doing something right. Something good. So maybe I don't know what it is that you do, but I know that you're no satan-worshipping mechanic. Mechanic's wives don't worry like that when they go away for business trips," Naomi told him. "So go ahead and tell me I'm wrong. That I'm a crazy old lady who doesn't know what she's talking about. That you weren't hoping to get rid of me so I wouldn't find out about whatever it is you really do."

Dean stared at her for a few minutes, and felt like he'd never seen her before.

"No, you're not crazy," he decided. "The doll thing that you got going on, that's pretty off," he added, "But you're pretty close to being right about me."

"You can explain to me later just how right I am. Right now, you find my grandkids," Naomi ordered, letting go of his arm.

He looked at her for a second, and realized what he was missing. Thinking out loud. He was used to it, with Sam, or even if he was alone, but he'd kept quiet because Naomi was around.

"I taught him to yell Christo, and wait for me to get to him. That was at home, though. He'll look for a place to hide Lucy, someplace dark," Dean told her.

"Why Christo?" Naomi asked.

It was probably a bad idea, but Dean answered her. "Makes the demon flinch, show itself. It hurts them a bit; he can use it to buy a second of time."

Naomi paled, but yet her jaw set seriously and nodded. "So he did. He's doing what you taught him to do. What else did you teach him?"

Dean started listing them off out loud. "Holy water, uh…holy ground."

"Holy gound? St. Marks is four blocks that way. It's where I go to bingo," Naomi said at once and Dean wanted to groan that he hadn't thought of it before. He needed to get a grip, before his kids suffered for it.

"You should go back," Dean told her.

"I am not going home and telling my daughter that demons took away her children. So you can forget it," Naomi told him, already walking briskly towards the direction of the church.

For the first time in his life, Dean agreed wholeheartedly with his mother in law, and ran, Naomi not doing too bad of a job in keeping up with her "power walking".

~*~

"Becky?" Rebecca heard as soon as she answered her cell phone, standing outside her own library in the night air.

"Yes, I'm here," Rebecca answered, resisting the urge to correct the man. Though, it was really annoying her, being called Becky.

"Good, you got out then?" Ed asked her, sounding relieved.

"Yes, but there are people still inside. A man and a cop," Rebecca reported. "I don't know what to do. I tried to explain about the Level Four Screamer, but they have no idea what they're up against."

"Civilians," Ed grumbled. "They never do. Listen, we're about an hour away from you now. Hang tight, and we'll be there as soon as we can."

Rebecca tried not to cry. Instead she took a deep breath. "But the screamer has the detective and Sam's in there. He got shot, and he's hurt. I don't think they can wait an hour for help," she explained as calmly as she could.

"Don't worry. We're professionals. Just stay away from the library, okay Becky? Leave this to the pros," Ed went on and he annoyed Rebecca now.

"They might get killed," Rebecca insisted angrily.

"Sometimes, when civilians get in the way, that's what happens. Don't blame yourself, kiddo," Ed told her sagely.

_Kiddo?_

"I have to go now, Ed," Rebecca told him, drawing herself up tall.

"See you in an hour Becky," Ed told her and she rolled her eyes and hung up on him. Calling the police or an ambulance was out of the question. No one would ever believe her. She's already told the truth, and it earned her a psychiatric evaluation and a police interrogation.

Rebecca, walked around to the front of the library and saw two cars parked in front. When Sam had shot at it, he'd hurt it, and she decided that either car might have something inside that she could use to defend herself with.

She hit pay dirt in what she guessed was Sam's car, judging from the bag of salt contained inside the trunk and loaded up a black duffle bag with anything that looked to be even remotely useful.

Rebecca Jacobs, and gripping the shot gun tightly, the feeling of metal unfamiliar and foreign, marched up the steps of the library with her keys in her hand. The bag on her shoulder was heavy and bit into her skin, but she ignored it and pressed on. She was on a mission.

Once inside, she tripped over the threshold, the keys skittering across the floor. Rebecca pushed aside the niggling doubt that perhaps she should in fact, wait for back up. She reminded herself that the so called professional couldn't even get her name right, and she stood back up and brushed herself off.

She was in charge of this library, and she planned to defend it to the best of her ability.

She tried to resolutely cock the shotgun, woe to the spectre-

And dropped it.

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

~*~

Chapter Eight

~*~

"Danielle?" Sam whispered when he discovered her prone form on the floor. He'd followed a small water trail into the men's bathroom, every tap turned on when he'd cautiously opened the door.

Danielle didn't answer, so Sam carefully made his way across the shiny linoleum, checking each stall as he went. When he got to her, he turned her over quickly, and pressed his fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. He ignored the scratches all over her wrists, and the tear and claw marks through her shirt.

Danielle had a pulse, and the rest would heal.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and then held his breath again when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand up. He could feel it in the room with them; knew without looking that it was behind him.

Arm throbbing, and practically useless, Sam whirled around and took another shot at it with his good hand. The gun went off, and the thing dodged the shot, screaming so loud that every mirror in the men's room shattered.

It moved in quickly, almost a blur, and knocked the gun from Sam's hand. Sam connected with a punch, but he had to use his injured arm, and it did nothing except make it angrier. It appeared to be female, elongated digits for fingers ending in sharp looking talons. It swiped at him with those, and he dodged it, tripping over the knocked out Danielle as he did so.

While he was busy staying on his feet, it moved again, and Sam quickly found himself on his back. It was pressing its hand onto his chest, and he couldn't breathe. Somehow it was able to keep his lungs from expanding, and he pushed back, tried to get away.

He managed to cough once, and he brought up water, instead of getting any oxygen. He was drowning, and the monster twisted up its mouth into an evil, spiteful smile; cold black eyes maliciously delighted as Sam's legs scrambled against the smooth floor, trying to find purchase.

It was nearly over when, through the haze of suffocation, he heard a loud noise from outside. The water spirit, his best oxygen deprived guess, turned its head towards the source of the commotion.

Giving a loud, ear splitting shriek, it moved its hand away from Sam's chest, and he immediately began coughing up water. Choking and sputtering, Sam turned to his head to the side as it got off of him entirely, speeding away towards the commotion. Sam rolled over to his stomach just in time for the retching to begin.

Along with copious amounts of water; Sam retched up thick chunks of moss onto the floor.

Grossed out and holding his stomach with his bad arm, he got up and grabbed his gun off the floor. He went back to Danielle, who gave a small groan as she started to stir.

"Danielle," Sam said, kneeling down, one eye on the door. "We need to go."

"Sam?" she asked, eyelids fluttering.

"Yeah, come on. Think you can walk?" he asked, hoping to God that she could.

"What was that?" she asked, her eyes snapping open suddenly.

"Some kind of water spirit. Maybe a banshee. A very pissed off one," Sam answered truthfully and waited for her to argue.

"A water spirit." Danielle repeated, sitting up and touching her stomach with a wince. "Okay, I'll buy that."

"You do?" he asked, surprised.

Danielle glanced down at her injuries again, and then gave Sam a pointed look.

"Right," Sam said, looking them over, too. She'd lost a fair amount of blood, but she'd live and he surmised that she should be able to walk. "We need to get out of here."

"Where is it now?" Danielle asked.

Sam had a sudden idea what could have caused such a loud, ill timed commotion and he stood up quickly, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose and then rubbing his face with his hand.

"I'm guessing it's gone after the librarian."

~*~

Was she stupid?

Rebecca asked herself that question over and over as she huddled at the end of the bookcase, unable to move and completely frozen with fear. She'd made it into the library easily enough, but she'd managed to trip and knock over one of the carts, creating a huge racket.

She wasn't a cop, or a strange man who carried guns around, with little to no regard for a locked door and a prominently displayed closed sign. She was just Rebecca, the director of a library, and she had no threshold for fear. She couldn't even watch "Pet Cemetary" without closing her eyes for half of it, causing her ex husband to make fun of her for days.

What happened to that poor boy, Gage, was just…

Another small noise, followed by the eerie clicking noise of the screamer stopped Rebecca's thoughts cold, and as it began to stalk her again, Rebecca's inner mantra began to repeat itself, on autopilot.

_Was she stupid?_

Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself, caring nothing for the shotgun or large bag of supplies that laid uselessly on the floor, and concentrated on breathing.

As quietly as possible.

~*~

"I take it that locks are not a problem?" Naomi asked, as Dean fished into his back pocket.

"No, not a problem," he told her, taking a pick out of his pocket and starting to work on the lock.

"Back in the old days, they used to leave churches open," Naomi sighed, and Dean heard the click of the tumblers as they gave way.

Naomi gave him a look as if she were impressed. Dean was fairly sure it was the first one he'd ever gotten from her.

"Let's split up," she suggested immediately.

"Bad idea," Dean refused at once. They stepped inside the dark church, Naomi right at his back.

"Holy water, right?" Naomi asked, looking at the small silver cache near the door.

"Still, you shouldn't…" Dean began and Naomi cut him off.

"Meet back here in fifteen," she ordered him, grabbing the entire shallow bowl from the holder, and already starting to walk away.

"Naomi," Dean whispered, somewhat loudly.

She ignored him and kept going, and Dean debated whether or not to follow his crazy mother in law.

In the end, Dean went the opposite way, determined to find his children. It was holy ground, she should be safe.

And so should his kids. Dean repeated it to himself over and over and tried not to think about the fact that some demons weren't the slightest bit put off by holy ground.

~*~

"I hear something," Lucy said, her whole body rigid with fear.

"Shh…" Bobby hushed her, and put his hand over her mouth. He'd heard it too, a small sound, and he couldn't tell how far away it was.

"It's coming." Lucy's muffled voice was close to the edge, and if he didn't calm her down she was going to scream or cry, or both. None of those where an option right now, she'd give away their position.

"We'll be okay. As long as you're quiet," Bobby promised in a whisper, and wished it wasn't a lie.

"Come out! Come out! Wherever you aarrre!!" A male voice called, and when Lucy gave a small scream, Bobby clamped his hand over Lucy's mouth tighter.

He pushed his face against her head, and whispered to just keep quiet. Her hair got stuck in his mouth and he ignored it, one hand over her mouth and the other wrapped around her.

He wished he was bigger; if he was bigger he'd go out and kill that thing for scaring his baby sister. He'd rip it to shreds and he'd…he'd…_smite it_ just like the angels in the bible. With wrath and light and fire.

Rage bubbled up inside of him so strongly that he nearly forgot himself completely, and his legs actually twitched to get up and do what was absolutely impossible.

He was just a ten year old boy, and he was certainly _not_ a smiting angel from Heaven. If he didn't get a grip, he was going to get them both killed.

Doors started opening and slamming shut, much nearer than the voice had been earlier, and Bobby Winchester did the only thing he knew how to do: keep his sister quiet and whisper prayers in her ear.

~*~

"Shit, where did she go?" Sam muttered at the same time that he was taking mental inventory. He had a gun shot wound, and sure he'd had worse, but it hurt like a bitch and his little scuffle with that thing in the bathroom had absolutely not helped it at all. He was bleeding pretty good, and he had to try and concentrate through the dizziness.

He also had an injured cop in tow, the one he could thank for his bullet hole status, and she wasn't walking too good, either. Her face was pale and she kept one hand over her abdomen, the other on his back as they picked their way through the dimly lit, utterly quiet library.

He had two silver bullets left, a shot gun full of useless salt shells, and instead of tying off his arm so he'd slow down the bleeding, he was looking for a wayward librarian who shouldn't _even be in here_.

A librarian that babbled, tripped over her own feet, and had called the freaking "Ghostfacers" of all things. Wait until Dean heard about that. God, the ranting would be epic. The day that Dean had seen some of Bobby's friends wearing official "Ghostfacers" T-shirts at school last year had set him off for weeks.

He felt another trickle of blood tickle its way down his arm. Dean thought _he_ had problems, with one old lady. Geesh. He had women shooting him, and not listening, and…

He heard a clicking noise and he froze, motioning for Danielle to hold still and be quiet. He went on, stalking his way to the source of the sound as silently as he could.

He heard it again and narrowed it down to the history section. He headed that way, and tried to stick to the carpeted edges of the floor so that his shoes wouldn't give him away on the tile; he crept slowly, gun in hand.

He heard the gun and the scream all at the same time, and a haze of red and black covered his eyes.

~*~

Her eyes were as big as saucers when Sam yanked the shot gun out of her hands. "Give. Me. That." He ordered, still bent over in pain, and thanked god she hadn't gotten her hands on a gun loaded with real bullets.

As it was, he was littered in scratches from the salt round, and if her shot has been better aimed, he'd have gotten it right in the face instead of the freaking groin. Luckily, her aim sucked and it was "Custer's Last Stand" that took the brunt of her attack.

"I thought you were…" Her face was absolutely colorless.

"A Level Four Screamer?" he supplied with such cutting sarcasm that he'd almost swear it was his brother who'd said it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and her eyes started to well with tears. "It's in here, somewhere."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't be." He spat the words out in an angry hush, while checking their position. Danielle had come running when she heard the gun, and at least everyone was accounted for, except the freaky thing that was hunting them.

Or rather, was letting them hunt each other. Jesus.

He gave her another pissed off glare and she looked properly cowed before picking up a bag that looked familiar. "I found this stuff in your car." She offered the bag to him hesitantly as if she were afraid of him.

He was surprised at that. "What's in there?" he asked.

"First aid stuff, and whatever looked scary." She reported promptly, still looking appropriately shamed for nearly shooting him in the most sacred of all regions.

Sam took the bag and opened it up quickly to check her definition of scary. Every thing he'd had in the car for first aid, plus ammo, another gun, a flare gun, a few hunting knives, holy water, and a stake made out of Palo Alto.

He was impressed, actually, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that.

"That was good thinking," Danielle complimented her, giving Sam a reproachful look.

"Can we please just leave now?" Rebecca's voice was shaky and he realized just how scared she was. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and he could see fresh ones threatening to spill over again at any second. He was more than impressed, she'd come back in and stayed, despite how terrified she was.

"I really want to go home. Can we please go home now? I don't want to be here any more." Fat tears began to slide slowly down her pale cheeks, and he felt a sudden compulsion to wipe them away, and tell her it was all going to be okay, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

He felt guilty, he shouldn't be wasting time; he should have already started heading to the closest exit. That was the only place she'd be safe, outside.

He never got a chance to answer her or tell her that any of the things that were on his mind because right around the time that he opened his mouth, he was rushed from behind, and dragged along the floor at break neck speed.

~*~

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Bobby heard the not-really-a-policeman call out. He was in the room with them now. Bobby's hand was wet from Lucy's silent tears, and he had to be careful that his hand didn't slip.

"Just want to have a little chat with your Daddy is all…" the demon went on, and Bobby heard a door open across the room. It was going to check theirs next, and he joined Lucy in silent crying. "We go way back, and there's _so_ much catching up to do."

He had no idea what demons actually did if they caught a human. Were they cannibals like the crazy witch in Hansel and Gretel? Would it eat them alive? Or would it steal them away, drag them into the bowels of Hell for eternity?

Light poured into the closet, and Bobby's eyes squinted involuntarily. "Gotcha!" the demon said gleefully, and Bobby blinked his eyes open and started to shout "Christo" but he suddenly couldn't talk.

"Children should be seen and not heard," the demon smiled at him, and two large hands came down, gripping the front of each of their shirts into it fists.

The fought and tried to stay together; but when it stood up, they were each in the air, feet off the floor and kicking at nothing.

"Aren't you a feisty one?" it asked Lucy, who kept trying to wiggle free. It brought her close and Lucy's face was directly across from the demon.

Lucy's face took on a look familiar to Bobby and he covered his ears out of reflex. All of Lucy's fear took on the form of a high pitched, ear splitting scream, and even the demon looked slightly taken aback that such a sound could come from something so small and in pigtails.

Lucy was cut off mid scream, her face still screwed up and eyes still shut. She looked choked and Bobby struggled to try and kick at it. She opened her eyes in surprise, and the demon glared at her.

"That's quite a set of lungs you've got there, blondie," the demon told her, snarling.

"Daddy will be along to save you brats, just like _his_ Daddy," the demon went on, with Lucy still just inches from his face. His breath made the tiny wisps of blonde hair that had escaped blow back and forth across her forehead.

"Then, you two rug rats are going to take a little road trip with me to visit Uncle Sammy."

Bobby didn't know what was worse: the plans that the demon had for their family, or the fact that Lucy was sobbing silently and Bobby couldn't do a thing to comfort her.

~*~

TBC

Chapters nine, ten and the epilogue are done. All I have left is to format for the html, do some more editing, and find time to sit down to post them. I've got about six hours in a waiting room tomorrow, and if my daughter's laptop battery holds up, I can probably get them all up together Wed evening sometime. *crosses fingers*


	9. Chapter 9

~*~

Chapter Nine

~*~

Sounding like a crazed cougar, the thing let out an enraged roar, and Sam did his best to keep his grip on the water fountain. Frustrated, it let go of his leg and was on him in a flash, all teeth, rage and claws. He defended himself against a few of its blows, but the thing never slowed down and his forearms quickly became a bloody mess.

He found an opening and took it, rolling quickly and trying to get to his feet. It lunged at him again, and Sam ducked out of reflex when he heard the gun shot.

Screeching, but still alive, it took off, back towards the bathrooms and Sam could hear the running water over the wails.

Danielle was holding one of the guns that Rebecca had brought, and he nodded his thanks while Rebecca was clutching the bag to her chest and staring at his tore up arms in shock.

"Wow, she really hates _you_," Rebecca stated the obvious, while Sam tried his best not to snap at her.

"Thanks." His tone was dry and he felt a lot less like wiping away any of Rebecca's tears.

"No, I mean, she doesn't hate library employees. I think she hates men. She had plenty of time, but didn't kill the Detective," Rebecca explained, her face still pale and her knuckles white around the handle of the bag that she was crushing to her chest.

Sam blinked. "You're right." Danielle was cut up a bit, but now that he saw how vicious the thing could be, she was actually in pretty good shape.

"What kind of freaky ghost can do that?" Danielle asked him.

"That's not a ghost," he decided. "It's solid and rock salt didn't phase it. The silver bullets hurt it, but it's just hurt, not dead."

"What is it then?" Danielle asked and Sam saw his gun and motioned for them to follow.

"Don't know yet. Something to do with water, most likely. All the victims were torn up, but they died of drowning." He remembered his own lungs filled with water, and the taste of regurgitated moss. He mused a little over its appearance then, "It looks like a cross between a water banshee and a mermaid, actually."

"A mermaid that hates men, huh. It kind of reminds me of the Legend of Little Foot and Cecilia," Rebecca mused, color finally coming into her cheeks and she seemed lost in thought.

"What's that?" Sam asked, bending down hastily and grabbing his gun off the floor. It was hurt; they could probably get to the door while it licked at its wounds for a bit. He could try and figure out what it was and come back later, provided they came up with a plausible excuse to keep the library closed for the duration.

"Oh, um, just a local legend. There's a bunch of old Indian stories in the history section," Rebecca looked embarrassed, and Danielle just stared at her like she was crazy.

"What's the legend?" Sam asked, highly interested in the possible lead.

"Do we really have time for stories and legends?" Danielle asked him. "We should get her out and then go after it."

"We'll make time," Sam decided. "What's the legend, Rebecca?"

"There was this Indian brave, and he came across a woman in Lake Maituyna. The story says that she was a mermaid, and they fell in love," Rebecca blushed. "But eventually, the brave became tired of the relationship, and finally gave in to his father's wishes and agreed to an arranged marriage. The mermaid, when he stopped coming to the lake, chose to take a human like form so she could find out what happened to him. She eventually found him, with his wife and a new baby."

"What happened to the mermaid?" Sam asked, ignoring Danielle's impatient grunt.

"She was still immortal, but she couldn't go back to being a mermaid. No one ever knew what happened to her. Sometimes braves would drown, on dry land, and far from Lake Maituyna, and they would blame her. They claimed she was taking revenge on men for Little Foot leaving her for someone else." Rebecca's voice faltered a little, and something passed over her features. She cleared her throat quickly. "Anyway, that lake has been gone for years. There's underground streams of course, but the actual lake-"

"Undergrounds streams? Where?" Sam asked, but was one hundred percent sure that he already knew the answer.

"Well, there's one that runs right under the library, of course. Saved the board money to tap into it for our drinking water. I don't know if you've noticed, but the water from the fountains are very-"

"I need the book you read this in." Sam cut her off. Maybe he could find a way to kill it in there.

"It's in the history section, towards the back door," Rebecca explained. Good, he could get them both out, despite Danielle's intentions to come along, and grab the book on the way.

"Perfect." As he spoke, he realized the muffled sound of the deranged ex mermaid had died down. "Let's go. Now."

He put Danielle in front and guarded the rear, keeping Rebecca between them. She was exasperating, and kind of kooky, but he liked her. He wished things were different, that they hadn't met like this. Every time she looked at him now, she'd remember fear; his face would be synonymous with it. He'd seen it before, not always, but sometimes. They ran into people on occasion, and their features would cloud over with the memory of whatever evil thing they'd been saved from. Dean would shrug it off, say it didn't matter, but it stung.

He really, really didn't want to ever have her look at him like that.

"It's just in this row here…" Rebecca said, showing she truly did know every inch of the library. Danielle guarded the end of the row to make sure it couldn't sneak up on them.

While she reached for the top shelf, straining to reach a faded green volume, he wondered what had made Rebecca's face cloud over when she recounted the story about the mermaid.

Sam reached up and grabbed it easily for her, accidentally brushing her hand with his own in the process. She pulled it back quickly, as if he'd burned her.

"Oh," she said, her pinks a slight pink. "I just remembered another, slightly different version of the tale." He was watching her face slowly go from pink to red when she reached up again, and was about to offer to get it for her. But instead of finding a book binding to grab onto, a stone white, wet, and webbed hand gripped her wrist quickly and yanked her to the top of the bookcase before he could even blink.

It looked down triumphantly at him, while Rebecca screamed and tried to pry herself away. Throwing her under its arm, it hopped easily to the next bookcase.

Sam ran out of the aisle and aimed, but couldn't fire, not without risking hitting Rebecca.

He went after her, following her screams, and tried not to think about the reason when the noise suddenly just stopped.

~*~

"Wait!" Rebecca pleaded when it leaned in with what looked like razor sharp claws. It snarled but stopped just short of touching Rebecca with them. "I…" Rebecca thought wildly of something to say. "My husband left me for another woman!" she blurted out, the first time she'd ever been able to say it out loud.

It made odd clicking noises, and it tapped her forehead with a sharp looking talon.

"I um…she was younger. And…and had a really _big_ chest," Rebecca babbled on and illustrated her point with her hands; she took a second to look around nervously. It had dragged her down into the basement, and into a large hole that Rebecca had never seen before. They were in what looked to be a cave, just under the basement floor, and she could hear water running. There was a small amount of light, shining down the hole from the flood light that stayed on in the basement.

"Oh, and a really tiny waist," she added.

More clicking and it poked her in the boob with one claw. Rebecca grimaced, closed her eyes tightly, and waited to be torn to shreds. Nothing happened, so she opened one eye cautiously, and it was just looking at her, head cocked to the side.

"Men suck!" she said with false bravado. "Us girls gotta stick together, right?" She prayed the monster would agree with her logic.

The clicking was louder, and it made a hoarse noise that almost sounded like a word. Rebecca took a couple of nervous breaths, thinking maybe she was safe, but then it quickly wrapped a icy cold hand around her wrist and began to pull her further into the darkness.

Rebecca fainted.

~*~

"I've got the rear," Danielle said tensely, when Sam found the most likely place that it had taken Rebecca.

"You should just go," Sam tried again, finding a flashlight inside of the bag that Rebecca had brought.

"I accused her of murder," Danielle said flatly. "And… I'm a cop, and I'm pulling rank."

He really didn't have time to argue with her, and she did know how to use a gun. The lack of screaming was making his stomach do flip flops and he was having visions of blood splattered, dark brown glasses, ragged slashes across a pale white throat and-

"Let's do this, I guess," Danielle looked determined to crawl down into the narrow hole and Sam went inside, praying to God and anyone who was listening that she was okay.

~*~

Rebecca couldn't see a thing. They'd stopped moving and she was in one piece, but it was pitch black, and her heart was pounding. She was soaked, had been laying in water when she'd come to, and was pretty sure that she had a goose egg on her head and more than a few scratches, where rocks had torn right through her black slacks.

She really wanted to start screaming again, scary monster hand wrapped around her wrist or not, but she was afraid of messing up what little good fortune she was having.

Which, at the moment, amounted to the fact that her heart could still pound with fear, and she was thus far, all in one piece.

So, now what? Apparently they'd bonded over their common jilted status; were they supposed to eat ice cream, sing empowering break up songs, and get drunk? Rebecca felt its hands unfurl themselves from her wrist, and she could hear it walking around in the water away from her.

That was even worse than when she was holding hands with a psychopathic ex-mermaid. Now she was alone, in the dark, and the squeaking noise of rats made her give a small strangled scream.

Rebecca began to hum a song that she used to listen to over and over when her husband announced his affair to her with an apologetic grin, hands in the air as if he'd just said, "Whoops, hey, I spilled a little milk on the floor there." They still played it fairly regularly on the oldies channel; it was catchy, and easy to remember.

"Na Nana na na…" Rebecca began nervously. Supposedly, bats used sonar to gauge distance; maybe she could try the same thing.

"I guess I just lost my husband, I don't know where he went…" she continued, but it wasn't at all helpful. She had no clue how far the closest wall was; she grudgingly admitted that never make it as a bat. She began to take small care steps backward continuing to sing quietly, if for no other reason, she couldn't hear the small squeaks of the rats, and who knew what else was down there with her.

"So, so what? I'm still a rock star…"

"I got my rock moves!" She finally found a stone wall and rested her back against it gratefully. She took a moment to catch her breath, grateful that nothing could up behind her.

She hadn't heard anything, but suddenly felt cold breath on her face. "Na grrr na…." it growled and gurgled in a crude imitation of the song and Rebecca squeaked like a rat herself, and swallowed hard.

"Wow, yes that's very good," Rebecca complimented her. She felt a talon poke her in the chest again, and she stiffened, waiting.

"Na…grr…na," it growled and poked.

"Oh, you want me to sing?" she asked. Only something dark and desperate would ever ask Rebecca to sing voluntarily.

With a terrified and shaky voice Rebecca started the song over, and the thing tapped her shoulder with a talon, in time with the beat.

~*~

When Sam heard noises wafting down the tunnel, he quickly turned off the flashlight.

"Is that…is she singing?" Danielle whispered.

"Uh…I think so." He was instantly relieved. It was Rebecca's voice, there was no doubt. And wow, she sang worse than his brother.

They held on to the walls and took a few more steps.

"Sam, is that…'Pink'?"

"Uh…"

"She's singing 'So What' to a jilted mermaid?"

"Uh…"

_"I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm all right!!"_

"Na grrr…nagrrr….

"Oh my God, she _is_."

"Uh…I think she takes some kind of… medication."

"Or she _should_ be."

"She's alive. Let's uh, hurry up."

Sam knew that she was just bait; the singing was probably so that he could find her in the dark.

He hurried anyway.

~*~

Rebecca sang the stupid song four times, and it had just started poking her again, wanting her to sing it again. Her throat was sore; she was cold, and tired of standing in ankle deep water.

"I can't," she refused firmly.

"Na grrr na…" it poked at her shoulder, pressing into her skin a bit until it hurt and Rebecca bit her lip. Visions of being trapped in the cave for days, forced to sing the same stupid song over and over until she finally died of dehydration, flashed in her mind and she blinked back tears.

She started again, and got out the first bar when suddenly the cold presence was just gone. She stopped singing and waited to get poked again for failing to perform, but nothing happened.

She heard a tiny noise in front of her, but she couldn't tell how far away it was. Something was moving in the water, though, she did know that much. She tried to hold her breath, and start to slide towards her left, but only got two steps before hitting another wall.

She was boxed in.

She was suddenly blinded by bright light; she screamed once in surprise and put her hand in front of her face to cover her eyes quickly.

"Shhh…" she heard a man saying and the light was turned away from her face.

"Oh my God, Sam?" Rebecca had never been so happy to see someone in her life, even a guy who carries around a bunch of guns, reads horror novels –clearly, they are educational- and buys rock salt in August. Though really, who _does_ that?

She latched onto him as if he was a life preserver; no way was she getting lost in the dark again, and whispered that she didn't know where the thing had gone.

"Okay…I…it's okay. I got you." Rebecca realized that his hand had been on the back of her head and she'd been _hugging_ him.

"Sorry," she apologized, releasing him immediately. "I…where is the detective?" she decided to try and change the subject. Hopefully she hadn't seen Rebecca pawing at her would-be, potential boyfriend.

"Over. Here." A dry voice said from just a few feet away.

_Oh._

"Let's get out of here," Sam whispered. "I'll come back later and-"

Rebecca never heard the rest of the statement because the flashlight flew across the room, Sam following it a half a second later.

~*~

Sam's body was pressed down, the mermaid pushing him into the shallow water, clawing at him again, and his hand bumped into the gun he'd dropped. He managed to bring it up, and he heard a gun shot before he ever got a chance to pull the trigger. The mermaid turned and snarled angrily at Danielle, and Sam could see that she'd delivered a direct head shot to it.

"NO, wait!!" Rebecca screamed, and Sam wasn't even going to hear an argument on the mermaid's behalf. He started firing anyway, at anything on its body while it pushed his head under the water. Eyes open, he could see the shimmery thing above him full of anger and rage, claws on his face and if it could have, it would have pushed his head through the rock underneath him.

"HEART!!" he could hear the distorted voice of Rebecca saying. He couldn't turn his head, it was turned forcibly to the side by the mermaid, but he could hear Danielle's gun firing, and he wildly tried to aim for the heart, too.

Suddenly, there was an explosion of light, and the claw holding his face under the water, tightened up at once, gripping his head painfully. Then it slacked, and fell backwards.

Sam sat up, choking, and retching up water. Through it all, he saw the thing writhing, a flare sticking out of its chest, and after a few more screams and moans, it went still.

He turned his head, and Rebecca was standing there, looking shocked at the dead mermaid, sparks still shooting upwards, and holding a flare gun while Danielle was already coming over to check on him. He retched up more moss, and Rebecca finally looked at him.

"I just remembered the other legend," she said in a daze. Sam just continued to retch and gave her a look that he hoped would convey the fact that he was just a little busy. She seemed to eventually catch on.

"Ew," she said, looking disgusted at the sight.

Then, she burst into tears.

~*~

"You did good," Sam told Rebecca, trying to get her to stop crying.

"It was her heart. I thought maybe it was…and the fire…" Rebecca still sobbed as they walked. Sam put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She settled down and went on, "The story said that over time she started to look the way her heart felt and that she was afraid of fire because it would melt her immortal cold heart, and…" she started to cry again.

"You did good," he said again and she looked at him.

"I don't _feel_ good," she said seriously, hastily wiping at her cheeks with a dirty hand. "She just…I understand why..."

Sam didn't know what to say to that.

"I just want to go home. I used to feel safe here. It's the _library_."

"Okay. We're gonna be okay," he whispered putting his hand on her shoulder again, but leaving it there.

"Do you have family that you can stay with?" he asked her.

"No." Her voice was flat and she sniffed again.

"Friends?"

"I don't have any friends."

"You can come stay with me for a few days," Danielle interrupted. Rebecca just nodded and wiped at her cheeks again.

They waded through the water some more in silence, Rebecca occasionally sniffling, but she seemed to have stopped crying.

"Sam?" she asked just when the saw the light from the library's basement shining into the tunnel.

"Yeah?"

"Is this why you read horror novels? To learn stuff like this?"

"No, I uh…they're kind of funny," Sam admitted and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Funny?" she repeated, gaping at him.

"I…uh…" He'd clearly given the wrong answer.

"You read horror novels because you think they're funny? Who does that?" she asked him incredulously.

"I do," he shrugged and she continued to stare.

"It's just…I've seen way worse," he tried to explain and knew that Danielle was watching him carefully.

"You mean… you do this stuff _all the time_?!?" Rebecca asked him, putting a hand over her mouth.

"Well, uh…not as much lately, and mermaids are totally new. I've never seen one before." He added, not sure if that would make her more upset or not.

Rebecca just stared at him as if she hadn't ever met him before and after several long seconds, looked at his shoulder. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"I'd second that, but I'm thinking there's going to be too many questions. We can go to my place," Danielle offered and Sam just nodded.

He let Rebecca go first, not wanting to let her out of his sight, and Danielle was still bringing up the rear. When it came time to crawl out and back into the basement of the library, he told Rebecca to go ahead; he needed a minute with Danielle.

"Well," Danielle began once Rebecca had left them alone, "So after we get you patched up, looks like you're free," she flirted, tracing an index finger in a slow circle over his stomach and he laughed.

"Not for you. Not ever again, Ruby," Sam said seriously.

"Sam?' Danielle asked, looking confused.

"How long have you been in her?" Sam demanded to know.

Danielle's features changed and became a mask of sarcasm and annoyance. "Since you were busy with the Little Mermaid," she smirked.

"Thanks for the help," Sam scowled.

"Wanted to see how rusty you were," Ruby shrugged. "Since a stupid librarian had to bail you out, I'd say you are way out of shape."

"Don't call her stupid," he warned her. He felt a flicker of the old power, long since buried, rise to the surface. He swallowed hard and tried to push it back.

"She's cute. In a Mary Tyler Moore kind of way," Ruby went on, "But, you're gonna eventually get her aced. I mean, you know that, right? At least this one can hold a gun." She looked over the body she was riding.

"Thanks for the dating advice," Sam said sarcastically. "Is that why you dropped by? You started working for Date Match dot com?"

"No, I came by to warn you," Ruby told him, looking tense and serious.

"Warn me about what?" he asked.

"There's a new player," Ruby answered, taking a step closer to him. "Has plans. Big plans."

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Don't know. I can't get down there, not without getting stuck myself. Word on the street is that she's bad news, and she really, really has it in for you and your brother," Ruby explained.

"Word on the street?" Sam asked. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"There's a few left; ones that managed to hide when your angel friends put a cap on things. If I were you, I'd watch my back" she advised.

"Thanks for the warning. Now, leave Danielle alone," he ordered.

"She's sleeping. I know what a spaz you are about this stuff," Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Get out Ruby, or I'll make you," Sam warned.

"Tough guy, huh? You sure you still remember how?" Ruby challenged him.

"You want to find out?" Sam's voice was deadly serious.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, until Ruby gave him a small smirk. "Same as always. I try and help you out, and you don't appreciate it. Some people never change."

"You haven't told me anything useful. Some demons never change," he countered.

"How about one for the road?" Ruby asked him, closing the distance between them, her lips just a few inches from his own. "You know, for old times sake?"

"No thanks." The same way that Rebecca was going to remember fear when she looked at him, he would always be reminded of desperation and despair when he was around Ruby.

"Oh come on, Sam. Blondie here has no idea how you really like it," Ruby mocked him.

"I'm not that guy any more," he insisted.

"But you are," Ruby argued. "You're a guy with the blood of Azazel in his veins, and that's never going to change. Do you really think this pretty detective is ever going to understand that?"

"No, she wouldn't," Sam agreed. He glanced back to make sure that Rebecca hadn't come back, looking for them.

"Oh, but you think little miss bookworm will? Is that it?" Ruby asked. "Let's say she did, can you really live with her getting torn apart by whatever is coming? Because that's exactly what will happen, Sam."

Sam took three steps back and stopped fighting it. He let the power slide back into place, a familiar hum, steady and powerful, and he knew Ruby could feel it. "Unless you have something that's actually helpful, it's time for you to go."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I'll be in touch."

~*~

Rebecca's hands were still shaking when she unlocked the front door. She didn't know what was taking so long, but Sam and Danielle still hadn't come up yet, and she didn't want to wait inside for them any more. She wanted to be outside, maybe she'd feel safer out there.

It was early morning and the sun hadn't risen yet. She was still soaking wet and the light breeze made her shiver. Rebecca just stared into space trying to process everything that had just happened.

While she was busy trying to get her head around it all, a bright yellow van pulled up and came to a screeching halt. Three people with lights strapped to their black clad bodies hopped out, and shoved cameras in her faces.

"Becky, Ed Zeddmore. I bet you're glad we're here!" he said and the other man nodded his head in agreement. "Harry, you have to hold still. You're jerking the camera," Ed scolded him, and Harry gave Ed a serious nod, and trained it back on Rebecca.

"Hey, Becky. You with us, doll?" Ed asked, and snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"My name's not Becky," Rebecca whispered.

"What's that, Becky?" Ed asked, his voice unnaturally loud in the still night.

"I said…" Rebecca began.

"You know, doesn't matter babe. How about you tell us what's happened. Did you get anything on video?" Ed asked her and Rebecca stared at him in shock.

"You're on camera, Becky. Might want to, uh, liven it up a bit," Ed coached her in a stage whisper.

"Camera," Rebecca repeated. She was vaguely aware of the door behind her being opened, but she didn't have the energy to turn and look.

"This is gonna be some great ratings," Ed went on. "Tell the viewers what you told me in your email."

"Oh, it's _you_," Ed's voice sounded annoyed when Sam came up next to her.

"Ratings?" Rebecca whispered, but Ed continued to ignore her, and instead was talking to Sam. She didn't really follow what he was saying; everything was moving so fast, just like it had been inside. She couldn't take it any more. She needed things to slow down. Just slow down and ease up so she could _think_. "Becky called us, we're professionals!" she heard through the haze.

She didn't remember doing it, but Ed's face had blood on it and he was covering his nose with his hand, while hers was still curled into a tight fist.

"Stop calling me Becky!!!" she screamed at him. She felt someone tugging at her arm, and she tried to take a second swing at the stunned and bleeding television celebrity.

"Easy, tiger," Danielle said, and dragged her away.

"I hate being called Becky!" Her voice was shrill and the idea that she sounded like that shocked her into silence.

"Okay, no one will call you Becky," Sam promised, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Reality came crashing down around her.

"Oh my God, I just…_struck_ him!" Rebecca was mortified.

"Actually honey, that's called a sucker punch," Danielle informed her.

"And I think you broke his nose," Sam added, his eyebrow still quirked, but looking amused.

Rebecca looked at her hand in shock; it was red, and it hurt badly.

"You need some ice for that hand," Sam told her, on the way to Danielle's. Danielle was driving, even though Sam protested that he was fine, and Rebecca was in the back seat still staring at her hand.

She just nodded; ice sounded practical enough. Quiet. Easy. It was awfully considerate of him to think of her hand when he had a gun shot, and gashes all over him.

"Sam?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"Fifty dollars and sixty five cents."

"Huh?"

"That's how much it will cost you to replace the Battle of Gettysburg," Rebecca explained.

"I…_what_?"

Rebecca started laughing while he just stared at her. "I'm just kidding," she reassured him.

He started to laugh with her when she stopped abruptly and gave him a serious look over the top of her glasses. "It's actually _eighteen_ dollars."

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

~*~

Chapter Ten

~*~

"They're not here," Dean wanted to punch something, throw up, and die; all in that order.

"Maybe they…" Naomi began, but her words were cut short by a shrill and familiar scream. Dean would know that sound anywhere, and he ran back to the front door.

He was halfway across the street when the scream was suddenly cut off, and the only sounds were that of his feet falling hard on the pavement.

~*~

"Dean!" the demon said as if he were happy to see him. "We've been waiting for you."

It had both of his children in the air, their legs kicking and both of their mouths open, but no sound coming out.

"I have no idea how you do it. Noisy brats," the demon continued on, while Dean's brain tried to think of something to get them away from it.

"Get away from them!" he took a step forward and it reacted by bringing them in even closer.

"Ah, ah!" it warned and Dean froze. He could hear movement behind him, and knew that Naomi had finally caught up to him. "Wow, Dean. I figured you'd go for the older woman, but I had no idea that you'd gone quite that far over board in the Mommy kink department," the demon went on pleasantly.

"Do I know you?" Dean asked, while his brain raced. He had holy water, but he'd never risk doing anything as long as it held his kids in front of him.

"Wow, I'm kind of hurt. Send a girl to hell twice, and they forget all about you," the demon winked at him.

"Meg?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"Well, today I'm Officer Toth," the demon smiled slyly. "But hey, call me Meg if you want to."

"What do you want?" he asked, maybe, he thought wildly, it would negotiate.

"For starters, we're gonna kill Granny there. Then, I'm going to make you watch your pretty wife die a horrible, slow and painful death. After that, we're going to take these rug rats to see that disappointment of a brother of yours, and then you get to watch these…" Meg shook his kids like rag dolls, "Disgusting things die. I'm thinking fire. But then, cutting them open sounds like a lot of fun, too." Meg mused out loud, and Dean took three steps forward before she turned black eyes on him in warning again.

"I will end you," Dean promised and Meg laughed at him.

"I've been waiting so long for this." Her smile faded and she gave Dean a deadly, predatory look. "Had to hide, and slink, and wait," she spat at him. "But now…" she said gleefully, taking a step towards him. "It's all gonna pay off."

Dean waited for his chance and she kept approaching him. She stopped suddenly, as if she couldn't go any further and Naomi threw the pan of holy water at Meg's face. Smoke poured off and Dean took the opening, grabbing Lucy and tugging while throwing holy water on the demon as well.

Dean didn't see how, but it dropped Bobby. Dean pulled back, his daughter in his arms and once free, she began to sob loudly in his ear; her wet face pressed to his neck.

Meg looked around and saw a can of black spray pain on the floor, and Bobby scrambled to Dean's side.

"Good job, Bobby," Dean ruffled his hair.

"I'm going to rip you to shreds!!" the demon howled when it realized that Bobby had hidden a devil's trap under the small, dirty area rug she was standing on. "I'm gonna show them your insides!"

"No, you're going back to Hell to join your little friends," Dean promised her, but wishing he had the knife on him. He carefully extracted Lucy from his neck. "Bobby, take your sister and don't look back. You hear? You all go back to your grandma's."

Lucy had stopped crying; she had her thumb in her mouth, eyes vacant, and Dean felt his stomach flip again. All his fault, his baby girl was broken, and it was all his fault. Meg had been slinking around all this time. Just waiting for her chance for revenge. It was because of him that she was here. Lucy was broken because of him.

"We've been here before, cowboy," Meg laughed, and Dean turned his attention back to her again. Her eyes were black and she began chanting something; Dean remembered too late how she had broken the seal at Bobby's place.

"Now, Bobby! Take your sister now!" Dean shouted in a panic as the abandoned building began to shake.

Bobby grabbed Lucy's arm and began pulling her along, a wide eyed Naomi, shepherding them down the hall and Dean turned his attention back to Meg. He hastily began the exorcism, hoping that he could finish before she did. The floor under her feet began to shift and Dean readied himself for a fight.

When it finally cracked, and Meg gave a triumphant laugh, he rushed her, receiving a well placed blow to the face that landed him into the far wall.

"Plan B. Gonna see those kids insides," Meg promised. "And it's gonna be their sweet Grandma that does it," she snarled. The cops head was thrown back and black smoke poured out into the room, swirling around the ceiling and then out the glassless window.

Dean was dazed and he was pretty sure his arm was broken, but he didn't hesitate to run and try to get to the kids before Meg did.

~*~

Dean couldn't run faster than a demon; when he got there, the black smoke was already entering Naomi's body, and he was yelling for the kids to run. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, and from far away.

Lucy was just staring at her grandmother blankly, and Bobby was trying to pull her away. Not before the demon had control of their grandmother, and she grabbed up Lucy in a flash, tiny thumb never coming out of her mouth.

The same way that his voice had sounded like it was coming from someone else, he felt like this was happening to someone else. Everything became surreal, slow, and detached. Thoughts of _babygirlbabygirlbabygirl_ the only thing his brain could string together.

Visions popped into his panic stricken head; one right after the other. Lucy and Sam together: denim overalls, and bobby socks edged in petite lace with blonde pigtails, watching her uncle read to her, looking at him in awe instead of trying to follow along in the book. Her first gymnastics lesson, her tiny face determined to be better than the other girls. Her first day of kindergarten, walking into the building, full of confidence like she owned the joint. The day the nurse handed her over to him for the first time, how small and fragile she looked in his arms.

Lucy's life flashed before his eyes in the time it took him to cross three feet.

Meg had one hand around Lucy's throat, and dangled her in the air with a triumphant smile. Bobby was kicking and punching at her but she completely ignored his presence, and Dean never slowed down.

Lucy took her thumb out of her mouth with a loud popping noise, and looked at Dean confused, blinking as if she were just waking up from a dream.

"Daddy?"

Instead of getting closer, Dean was hurled away, landing on the hood of a parked car, and Lucy began to scream over the sound of the alarm.

Meg took a moment to laugh at Bobby, while Dean rolled off the hood of the Buick. Promising him that he'd join his sister soon, she turned her attention back to Lucy.

"Daddy couldn't save you. He saved the whole big wide world, but he couldn't save his little girl. You think about that while I snap your tiny little neck."

Dean could see fingers begin to tighten, preparing to make good on her threat. It was all happening so fast and yet, so slow, all at the same time.

He was still three feet away when another black shape appeared, hurtling straight for them, then through Naomi's body and out the other side.

Naomi and Lucy both fell to the ground, and the two black shapes, one slightly different than the other began to soundlessly attack one another in the middle of the street. The newcomer, razed around the inky smoke, faster and faster until Dean couldn't see anything except for a black blur.

Something in the middle tried to stretch to the left, tried to escape, but was suddenly pulled back into the fray.

As quickly as it came, it suddenly crumpled in on itself, and became like a long thin spear plunging into a large crack in the street, no sign of the demon except for a small spot of inky looking tar, and what appeared to be frost on the street. There was a rumbling, something faint, and then everything was still except for Bobby's crying.

"Lucy??" Bobby was shouting when Dean got there. He fell to his knees with a crash. Her eyes were closed and she was so still. So still. God no.

He was afraid to touch her, he didn't want to know. Couldn't know, and the whole world seemed to fold in on itself and a sound escaped from his mouth that didn't sound human.

Two fingers shot forward and pressed themselves against Lucy's throat, making him jump.

Naomi. He hadn't even heard her move and she had her eyes closed, body tense.

She opened her eyes and looked at Dean. "She's…" she began, but suddenly Lucy's blue eyes fluttered open.

Lucy didn't say anything; she immediately stuck her thumb back into her mouth and stared at the sky.

Dean grabbed her off the pavement, ignoring the protest of his broken arm, and pulled Bobby to him. Bobby's soft crying echoed Dean's own as he practically tried to pull Lucy into his chest, afraid to let her go for even a second, and they ignored the gathering crowd on the street.

~*~

"You can come with us," Dean offered. "It might not be safe for you here."

Sarah's wrapped an appreciative arm around her husband for making the offer, but she knew her mother would never leave their tiny house. Too many memories for her, and it would take an army of demons to scare her away from it.

Sarah tried not to shudder at that thought.

"I'll be fine here. I remember what you said about the salt. I'm old, not stupid, Winchester," her mother grumbled.

"Take care of this guy, Sarah," her mother said when she hugged her goodbye. "Maybe put him on a diet while you're at it, too. He's getting pretty pudgy through the middle."

"Bye, Mom," Sarah squeezed her as tightly as she could.

"I love you," her mother whispered, and Sarah started to cry a little. She wished her mother would come with them, but a lifetime of experience had taught her that there was no arguing with her. "Don't worry. Lucy just needs time. Kids are tough, you'll see," her mother advised and Sarah just nodded, and hoped it was true.

"And you," her mother said, letting go and looking at Dean. "I still don't like you. You keep an eye on my daughter and grandkids. Or else you're gonna have me breathing down your neck. You hear me?" She threatened him.

"Mom!"

"I hear ya, you old bat," Dean said seriously and offered her his hand.

Naomi took it, shook his hand once as if some deal had been made, and then surprised them all by hugging Dean. Sarah could hear her whispering something in Dean's ear, but couldn't make out what it was.

Dean looked surprised by whatever was said, and when Naomi let go she walked briskly towards her front door, having said her goodbyes to the children before them.

"And don't speed in that ancient rust bucket of yours!!" she called back over her shoulder at him.

"What did she say to you?" Sarah asked him.

"Something I probably don't deserve," Dean answered. "Just get in the car, Sarah."

Sarah made to follow after her mother. She'd gone too far again, kicking the man while he was already down. Dean grabbed her arm and stopped her. "It's not like that, so relax," he insisted.

"Then what was it?" she demanded. Her mother waved sadly from the front door at them and went inside. Dean gave the house a wry look, and shook his head.

"Doesn't matter Sarah, she said she'd deny it if I ever told anyone anyway."

~*~

They'd eaten every meal in the car, (completely breaking Dean's iron clad, 'no eating or drinking' in the car _law_) and Sarah gave the children another glance in the backseat. They were curled up next to each other, fast asleep, Lucy still sucking her thumb. She hadn't said a word, hadn't left her brother's side since it had happened, even favoring him over Sarah.

She should be glad that Lucy had someone at least, instead of feeling hurt. She wasn't being slighted after all, and from what Bobby had told them she could understand why she was clinging to him.

Maybe they could find a psychologist. Sarah brushed that thought away quickly, they'd never believe Lucy's story if she did start talking. They weren't going to get any help, they were on their own.

She blinked back tears and stared out the window into the darkness. It was late, and Dean refused to stop and sleep. He was on the phone, talking in code to Sam, even though the kids were asleep, which meant he was hiding things from her.

"Remember that motel, the one with the bowling pins theme? Yeah, there. About two hours." He hung up the phone and she hardly recognized her own husband. He'd become hard, and tense in a way she'd never seen before. He'd always been quick to beat himself up, but this was different. He was operating in a mode completely unlike anything she'd ever seen before. She'd lost her husband and her daughter all in the same day.

She was full of fear, rage, and hopelessness but she refused to break down and cry about it.

Instead, she swallowed hard, and when Dean looked into the back seat she spoke up.

"You can forget it," she informed him.

"What?" he asked, looking at her cautiously.

"Those kids are not living in the back seat of this car, or in motel rooms with bowling pin themes."

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly until the knuckles turned white. "It's not negotiable."

"Did you just have the audacity to tell me that the way we raise our children is not _negotiable_?" she asked him, her voice low with a quiet and controlled rage that threatened to bubble over at any moment.

"You have no idea Sarah. We don't know how many of them are out there," Dean argued back, keeping his voice quiet to avoid waking up the kids.

"That's right, we don't. She could have been the only one," Sarah argued back.

"She's not," he said flatly, staring straight ahead.

"How do you know?" she demanded, he was trying to keep her in the dark.

"I just do, okay?" he said, glancing at her. "You should get some sleep, you look terrible."

"Sleep? You just told me there are still demons running around and you want me to sleep??" she whispered angrily.

"What do you want me to say, Sarah? That I'm sorry? Because I am. I'm sorry you ever met me. Your mother was right, I'm the worst thing that ever could have happened to you," he kept looking straight ahead, "I should have known better. Should have known it wasn't ever gonna be over. Shouldn't have dragged kids into this. I never should have-"

He was cut off by a sharp slap. He held his face and looked at Sarah with wide eyes.

"I just did you a favor," Sarah spat at him, "Because you were about to say that you never should have created those two beautiful children that are sleeping in the back seat at this very minute. And if you had said that Dean, I swear to God, I'd have taken them and never looked back."

He rubbed at his red cheek and she fell silent, trying to get herself to a reasonable level of calm. After a few minutes of silence he put both hands back on the steering wheel again.

"You really mean that?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Do you really think our children shouldn't exist?" she countered and he glanced back into the back seat again.

He didn't answer, and instead pulled over to the side of the road. He put it in park and just stared at her until she was afraid of what he was going to say.

"No, I don't," his voice broke and he stopped, coughing as if to clear his throat before going on. "I can't imagine not having them, Sarah, or you."

Sarah waited, she knew the "but" was coming.

"But this is all my fault. I have to keep them safe. I have to keep you safe," he went on.

"Safe and miserable?" she asked him. "Without a place to call home? What kind of life is that for children, Dean?"

"Mine," he said instantly. "Worked for us."

"Did it really?" she asked him and he bristled, ready to defend his father at once. "Look, don't get me wrong. Your Dad did the best he could, with what he had to work with. He didn't know about demons and had to learn as he went. But you aren't your father. You know how to protect us. You have me to help protect our children. We've got Bobby and Sam as back up. We can offer our children more than what your father was able to do for you and Sam."

Dean didn't say anything, and looked out the windshield some more.

"Anything could happen. At the school…" he started to argue.

"Uncle Bobby is more than qualified to home school the kids. We'll all help," Sarah insisted before he could finish.

"I still don't know what that thing is that jumped in," he went on.

"Then you'll figure it out. From home base." Sarah countered. "They need a home, Dean. Please," she begged.

"I don't know…every instinct I have says to keep moving," he admitted, finally looking at her.

"I know, baby." Sarah slid over until she was against him. "But it's not just your instincts any more, it's ours. _Us_. We have to work together, and find a happy medium."

He grabbed her hand and ran his thumb over her simple gold wedding band, staring at it. She took her other hand and made him look at her. She wanted to look him in the eye for the rest of what she had to say. She felt guilty for not saying it sooner, but there hadn't been time when they had packed hastily to leave, and this was the first time both kids had fallen asleep at the same time.

"And it's not your fault. Demons did this to our baby. _Demons._ Not you," she insisted.

She knew she was going too far, pushing too hard, and she regretted it when tears slid down his face. "They broke her, Sarah. That bitch broke our…" his voice came out in choking sobs. She hated to see him break down, hated it had to come to this, but he needed to let it out before the self hatred took over, followed by the silence and the drinking.

"No. She's not broken. She'll heal," Sarah insisted and prayed silently that it was true. "We'll fix her. We'll find a way and make her better." She meant every word. Sarah was prepared to give anything, sacrifice anything, to make it true.

Dean wrapped his arms around her, and Sarah was satisfied that she got her husband back. The calculating hunter was gone for the moment, and it was just _Dean_ again. "I thought she was dead, and I wished it was me," he whispered in her ear, one hand at the back of her head.

They sat like that in silence until they heard a noise in the back seat. Bobby was stirring a little, and Sarah pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes. Dean quickly did the same, and put the car into drive, checking the rearview.

"Maybe we'll just lay low for a bit. Head home the long way," he said quietly, and Sarah just nodded in agreement. They could do that, just for a little while. She stayed where she was, next to her husband, and rested her head on his shoulder.

He moved, and wrapped an arm around her. "We're okay?" he asked her .

"Yeah, we're okay," Sarah reassured him.

He squeezed her a little, and kissed the top of her head. They heard Bobby muttering a little, and Sarah turned to see if he was awake.

His eyes were still closed, but his lips were moving.

"Heh, talking in his sleep," Sarah said to Dean, turning back around and snuggling back into his warm body. "I think he has a crush on a girl from last year at school. I heard him talking about a girl named Anna the other night," she went on, and Dean tensed a little. She remembered that they wouldn't be going to school again, and hoped that Bobby wouldn't be too crushed at the news.

"Stop. Drinking." Bobby said suddenly and Sarah quickly turned back around again. He was still fast asleep, but his face was screwed up as if he were upset.

"Bobby?" Sarah whispered, hoping to wake him from his nightmare without disturbing Lucy in the process. After everything, he was having a nightmare about that horrible Christmas…

"My father loves you," Bobby went on and then fell back to mumbling and Sarah couldn't hear.

"Wake him up Sarah," Dean said suddenly, sounding a little panicked. She looked at him quickly, and his face was ashen.

"Wha-" she started to ask him, but then Bobby spoke again.

"Anna…" Bobby said clearly, and somewhat loud. He fell silent again for a second and Sarah's could Dean breathing loud, as if he were scared to death. "I cannot let you go back, until you tell me exactly how it is done."

"Wake him up!" Dean said frantically.

"I like her, Dean. Sarah is a good woman; she has a big heart." Bobby said, his normally childish voice taking on an air of adulthood. Sarah looked back at him again in shock and then at Dean.

"What on earth…?" she began again, and Dean reached back and started trying to shake Bobby awake, while keeping one eye on the road.

"Hey! Wake up!" he called to him.

"Sshhhh!" Sarah tried to stop him, Lucy was beginning to wake up now, her mouth working on her thumb again.

Suddenly, Bobby started making a high pitched noise, his throat expanding and tensing in an unnatural way to hold the tones. It was almost painful to hear, and Sarah was inclined to hold her ears but she was suddenly as scared as Dean seemed to be.

"Help me! Wake him up!" Dean shouted at her and she turned completely around in her seat, and tried to get Bobby to wake up.

"Hurry before they hear him!" Dean bellowed at her, still trying to shake Bobby as well, but all he could reach was the tip of his foot.

Sarah looked at Dean in shock, not understanding; he was more panicked than she'd ever seen him, and that's when she saw the headlights.

"DEAN!!" Sarah screamed, and Dean turned his attention back to the road just in time to swerve back to the right side of the road, the trucker's angry horn sounding it's displeasure into the night.

Catching her breath she turned back to Bobby; he'd stopped making the strange noises, and was looking at her, frightened.

"Jesus. Son of a bitch," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper and he ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Sarah asked him. "What the hell just happened?"

Dean didn't look at her and wouldn't answer any of her questions; he just buried his foot into the gas pedal and kept it there. Sarah climbed into the back seat, and arranged Lucy and Bobby so she could hold them both, and Dean never even glanced at them in the rear view mirror.

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

~*~

Epilogue

~*~

"I have to go," Sam said quickly when he came back into the room. He'd been in the hallway, talking on the phone. He'd tried to call someone several times over the last hour, and had seemed frustrated when he couldn't get a hold of them. Rebecca had wanted to point out that it was four o' clock in the morning, and the person was probably asleep, but had decided to hold her tongue.

"Go where?" Danielle asked, eyeing his fresh bandages and pale face.

"There's been an accident, and I…I have to go," Sam hastily grabbed his things from the small kitchen table.

"Should you be driving in your condition?" Rebecca asked, looking at Danielle for her opinion on the matter as well.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, but the look on Danielle's face said otherwise. He went straight to the door, favoring his bad arm and paused to look back at them.

Rebecca recognized the look well. He didn't plan on ever seeing them again. It was the same look her husband gave her the day he'd announced that he was having an affair. The one he gave right before he walked out and never came back.

"Sam," she stood up quickly. "Thank you. For everything."

He looked away.

"I mean, I would have been dead. Well, okay probably not dead, since she seemed to want to kill men. I actually… was probably safe." She took a deep breath because she was rambling like an idiot and he finally looked at her again. "Just...thank you," she finished.

He started to say something, seemed to think better of it, and closed his mouth. He gave Danielle a glance, and then looked back at Rebecca. "Take care of yourself."

When he closed the door behind him, she finally said goodbye.

Except, not to Sam, her goodbye was for her old life, and a husband that didn't want her.

~*~

November (three months later)

"Uh, hi," she heard behind her, and Rebecca turned around in surprise. She'd been shelving some wayward books in the history section, and her heel caught as she turned. She recognized the owner of the voice as she struggled to keep her balance. She quickly grabbed the ledge of the book case and steadied herself, just as his arm shot out to assist.

"Nope, I got it," she smiled. "What are you doing here?" His overdue book had showed up in the overnight drop one day, and she'd taken it as a sign that he hadn't planned on ever coming back.

"There's a story time today, right?" he asked nervously.

"Uh, well it's for children," Rebecca let him know. She supposed that if he really wanted to…

"No, I mean, not for me," he explained quickly, laughing a little. He nodded with his head to the side, and Rebecca bent forward and peeked around the corner to see two children, a gruff looking man with his arm in a cast, and a pretty blonde.

The kids were adorable, and they could easily be a picture perfect family, except the picture was somehow wrong. The young girl was sucking her thumb, clinging to her mother. Rebecca guessed her to be almost eight, entirely too old for that sort of behavior. The slightly older boy seemed jumpy and nervous, and the man was looking at everyone in the library with extreme suspicion. The woman, just looked haunted, and she was the only one who met Rebecca's eye.

Rebecca leaned back and looked at Sam questioningly.

"That's my brother Dean, his wife Sarah, and their kids, Bobby and Lucy. There was an accident," he explained in a whisper, and she remembered the way he'd rushed out that night. "Um, we've been home schooling the kids since then. But we're worried about them not getting time with kids their own age."

"Are they okay?" she asked. Except for father with the broken arm, they didn't seem to have any obvious injuries.

"Lucy, she…she got hurt. She doesn't talk any more," Sam answered, but his voice broke a little, which he quickly covered with a small cough before going on. "We think it's time that she got out a little, maybe with kids her own age, but she doesn't feel safe anywhere except at home. So, when we tried to think of someplace, you know, where she'd feel safe, I thought of y--, here first."

Rebecca had nightmares for weeks after that night, and for awhile she'd quit working in the evenings, and opted to leave as soon as the library closed. She'd gotten over it, slowly, and with lots of suggested breathing techniques that she'd acquired on a yoga internet site.

She peeked around the corner again. They all had circles under their eyes, as if they were utterly exhausted, wrung out, and emotionally wrecked. She noticed they were all touching, as if they were afraid to let go.

She looked back at Sam, and realized that he looked exactly the same way. He was fidgety, too, and having a hard time standing still. He seemed anxious to get back to them, even though they were less than ten feet away.

If a family ever needed help, it was this one. Whatever happened to them, they were clinging to each other too tightly, and they all needed some sort of break; some time to just breathe.

Story time seemed the absolute best place to start.

Rebecca drew herself up tall, "Well then, why don't you introduce me?"

~*~

The Winchester children never missed a story time after that. And though it took a few months, Dean Winchester finally relinquished his children exclusively to Rebecca's care for exactly forty five minutes on Wednesday afternoons. Instead of sitting with his children in the room, (the only adult to do so) he took to pacing like a lion out in front of it.

On one Wednesday in January, Rebecca managed to talk him into getting a library card.

She celebrated that victory by buying a new stock of freebie pins to pass out, and a new copy of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan, giving it to Lucy as a gift.

Lucy seemed to be so very interested in it; Rebecca had noticed that she was always staring at the Disney movie poster they had hanging on the wall.

~*~

Shadow was being punished. Back in the Other Place, a void of nothingness where time didn't exist. Shadow had been there before, until all memories of a life before became erased and it lost all sense of self.

But this time was different. The conjurer would have use for Shadow again, and all Shadow had to do was hang on. It wasn't a forever sentence, not this time. This time escape was possible.

Shadow's essence floated away, scattered and became a part of the void. It was a place of punishment and exile, but it was nothing like Hell, it was worse. Hell had been a pleasant place for Shadow.

The Other Place was unending nothingness that wrapped and pulled away at every piece until nothing was intact. Shadow still had a spark of being left, and concentrated on the small humans that had been his undoing.

The female had called Shadow "he". Shadow liked that, it gave a sense of identity, and it sounded familiar. He decided to adopt it, and liked the way it made him feel. Almost like having a name.

Shadow was certain that before he came to the Other Place, he had been a "he" and he'd even had a name. He could almost remember, a haze of fire and ruin around him, that he stood with real legs in a battlefield surrounded by the bodies of those who dared to oppose his will. He couldn't remember more, but he'd try again, once he was free from the void.

The small humans had names. Lucy and Bobby. He liked them, liked playing with them and pretending to be an object that gave Lucy's joy, even if it was for a short while. She didn't recoil from him, not even when he'd accidentally touched her while they hid in the tiny closet.

Instead of being disgusted, she was sure that Shadow would save them, and he felt shame for bringing the demon to them. He'd tried to disobey, but the spell was strong and he'd had to do the conjurer's bidding. Find the children and lead the demon to them.

That was his task, and he'd completed it.

Once it was over, however, he was free to do as he wished until his master called him back.

He didn't regret helping them, despite the pain of nothingness he was receiving as punishment. He refused to let the cold touch his spirit; he could take it and more if need be. He'd had much, much worse; this was just temporary. That demon would trouble the small ones no more.

He continued to stall the unraveling of his soul by thinking about the only two people who didn't revile him.

When he got free, he'd go back to them.

That thought was all that kept him together.

~*~

"Thank you for meeting with us," he said gratefully, and pumped the man's hand up and down, admiring his expensive suit.

"I've only got ten minutes, so we'll need to make this fast," the executive answered briskly.

"Okay," he began nervously. "So here's my idea…"

He pitched his idea with enthusiasm, while his companion nodded at all the right places. The executive's expression never changed at all, however, and he became nervous towards the end of his spiel.

"So?" he asked hopefully. "What do you think?"

"The car is a nice detail, but sorry boys. It'll never sell. Who's going to watch a show about two guys in an antique Impala that drive around and save the world? It's just too unbelievable and the network would never go for it." The executive stood up. "Better stick with Ghostfacers, boys. You've got a solid fan base, why rock the boat?" he reasoned, and quickly ushered them out of his office, ignoring Ed and Harry's sputtering protests.

"Well?" Ed asked Harry, looking defeated.

"Fine," Harry decided angrily. "Stupid network. They aired a show about _nothing_! If NBC doesn't want this goldmine, we'll take it somewhere else."

"Where?" Ed asked with a big sigh.

Harry was struck with an idea. "I've got the perfect place!"

~*~

_"The CW is proud to add the stars of "Ghostfacers" to this fall's line up. Airing Thursdays at nine, see Harry Spangler and Ed Zeddmore as Bo and Luke Colt, in "Paranormal". Two brothers on a quest to save people and hunt the things that go bump in the night…"_

"Hey baby, I've got a big back seat…wanna come see?"

"Bo, you're my hero…"

**"SAAAAAM!!!"**

~*~

A/N: A thousand thanks to mrstotten. Without her constant cheerleading, it's unlikely this story would have seen an ending so soon. She's also the reason there is already another story plotted out in this verse, and another after that :D


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